Wings So Wicked: Golden City book 1

Emily Blackwood
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/wings-so-wicked-golden-city-book-1-emily-blackwood
/
 Wings So Wicked
A GOLDEN CITY NOVEL
BOOK ONE

EMILY BLACKWOOD
Copyright © 2023 by Emily Blackwood
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by MoonPress www.moonpress.co
Editing and proofreading by Enchanted Author Co
Interior graphics by Etheric Designs
Created with Vellum
 Contents

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Thank you!
 Author note

Please check your triggers—

Wings So Wicked is a new adult fantasy romance novel with dark themes, violence, cursing, and explicit sexual scenes.
Characters are harmed in ways including whippings and stabbings. Death of parents, abusive father figures, depressive
thoughts, self harm, deep betrayal and blood sharing/biting are themes in this novel.
This story will get dark and contains an epic cliffhanger, but the series will ultimately have a happy ending.
For readers who enjoy the wicked pleasure of a slow burn.
Buckle up. This one’s for you.
 Prologue

The fall of Scarlata Empire

C
laudia Fullmall Gawerula stood tall amongst her falling kingdom without shedding a single tear. Aggressive, fuming
fires ripped apart building after building in the distance, the growing roar and crackle of burning wood vaguely
disguising the horrified, gutted screams of her people as they took their last breaths.
She blinked at the stench of burning flesh that wafted through the slight breeze, but she did not shed a tear.
Claudia flinched when she heard the hungry, animalistic growls of her people—people who were once kind and patient
—as they ripped into innocent bystanders on the streets with their sharp teeth. Even so, she did not cry.
The Queen of Scarlata Empire only lifted her chin, beholding the crumbling walls of everything she had worked so hard
to build over the last fifty years. She had created peace, created a home not only for herself and her new daughter but for
the thousands of other vampyres who counted on her.
For once, vampyres were living in harmony, kingdoms away from any fae who might feel weary about the habits of her
people.
It didn’t matter how much good she did in the world, though. It never did. She could never stand a chance against the
hunger.
She sighed and removed the heavy golden crown from her head as she stood atop the tallest hill that surrounded the
kingdom, away from the war below. The second the fae invaded, she had summoned her wings to find her way here. Not to
escape the fight, no. She would never leave her people to fight alone. She merely needed one moment—one last look—to
remember Scarlata Empire as it once was.
For she knew deep in her bones, like the most primal foretelling of any attack, that their time as a kingdom was over.
The fae would never let them exist for so long without retaliating, especially when the hungry ones had been growing more
and more.
Being a vampyre herself, Claudia understood the nearly impossible cravings to sink one’s teeth into another's flesh, but
those cravings must be controlled if one wished to remain sane. Giving into that bloodlust—letting the hunger take over
and control your senses until you were its slave—was what she had lost so many of her people to. They turned into
monsters, into the vampyres that most of the fae feared.
Claudia was not like that. Her sister was not like that, nor was her neighbor or the baker who rose at dawn daily to
make bread for the kingdom.
But it did not matter to the fae. They would take and take and take, killing whatever they feared because they knew no
better.
Below her, the fighting intensified. She looked down, holding her crown between her hands as she watched fae attacking
vampyres, and vampyres draining the blood from fae.
Some of the vampyres, understand, were innocent. They were not the soulless, hungry monsters that fed on the flesh of
their attackers. Those innocent vampyres tried to run, tried to escape, but they were surrounded.
The queen’s heart hurt, not just for the innocent vampyres but for the vampyre with lost souls, too.
She knew her kingdom would fall eventually. The numbers of the hungry ones had been increasing for decades. It did
not matter how much she begged the goddess to save her kingdom; it was only a matter of time.
But the Queen of Scarlata Empire did not fear death. She set her crown upon the grassy hill, drew her sword, summoned
her wings, and flew to fight with her people against the invaders that wished them all dead.
Perhaps she would die today. She would fight with her people against the fae, and she would wield her sword with
honor and with respect for the ones who had already fallen. She would fight until her very last breath with her chin held
high, because perhaps her kingdom was falling, but she would die remembering what Scarlata Empire stood for.
 Chapter

One

“B egin,” Lord’s order rang through the stone cave walls before he retreated, backing into the protection of shadows.
My opponent emerged from that same darkness, one step after the other. Even in such little light, I could see the raw,
primal energy beneath the cloth mask that hid his features.
I was sure his energy matched my own.
My feet were lithe feathers beneath me, ready to move at my will. My heart beat steadily with power, reminding me of my
strength.
Reminding me of my purpose.
Another opponent, another fight, another test.
Another opportunity to prove to Lord that I was the best, the strongest, the most violent.
I counted to three, waiting for my opponent to make the first move. Over the last twenty-two years, I had learned how to
spot a male’s intention to fight.
They could hardly restrain themselves from lashing out within the first three seconds.
But when they did, when they hesitated, it showed me their greatest weakness.
I lunged forward with a wave of lightweight agility, watching his body, observing his reactions as I threw my first punch.
He swatted it away, his robust arms having no problem deterring my force.
I punched again; he blocked me again.
Leaving his midsection wide open.
Too easy. Too predictable.
My fist swung through the opening in his center and contacted my opponent’s face with a satisfying thud. I ignored the pain
that thundered through my knuckles, no doubt from the splitting skin on my bare hands. The scabs hadn’t had time to heal since
the last time they had split open. They never did.
The male before me hissed, baring his sharp fae teeth at me while blood trickled from his nose.
Males. They always had such uncontrollable tempers.
“Again!” Lord shouted from the far wall of the underground den.
Fuck. He did not sound pleased. I obeyed instantly, unable to rest for a single second before my opponent advanced,
swinging his dagger toward my torso.
This guy was temperamental and cocky.
I hated cocky.
I inhaled sharply before launching myself forward, narrowly avoiding his silver blade, before I pulled my own from my
waist and grazed it across his chest, leaving a trail of blood behind.
One quick glance at Lord in the shadows told me he was still not impressed.
He rarely was.
Think, Huntyr. Focus. You should have taken him down by now.
I stepped backward while my opponent recovered, giving myself a second to collect my thoughts. The den was dark and
offered minimal lighting, but I could still see the way my opponent gripped his blade tightly. Each finger flexed around the hilt
as if letting go would spell his death. As if the blade would save him from failure.
That was his weakness. He relied too heavily on his weapon and likely had weaker combat skills without it.
“Stop dancing around,” Lord ordered, his voice booming off the rock walls around us. “You’re supposed to be killing each
other, not playing games.”
He was right.
Lord’s voice was enough to send a chill down my spine, raise the hair on my arms.
It distracted me just enough so that when I busied myself with blocking the fist that suddenly flew toward my face, I did not
notice the second punch ready to hook into my ribs.
I doubled over and staggered backward, gasping for breath.
 Fuck.
I sucked in air once, twice, then straightened myself, ignoring the screaming in my ribs.
Swiftly and without a sound, I ducked and rolled forward, tumbling toward my opponent's feet. He stood still, ready for
me, but he was surprised enough at my advance to leave his legs unguarded.
The second I landed in a crouched position, I swept my foot beneath him, sending him falling to his back with his weapon
scattering. Before he could climb back to his feet, I jumped on top of him, pinning his shoulders with my weight while I
straddled his torso. He writhed beneath me, scrambling for an escape, but with my weight centered and my knees planted
firmly on the ground, he wasn’t going anywhere.
My blade found its way to his neck, hovering above the delicate skin.
“You’re dead,” I growled through clenched teeth. My breath came out in pants, exhaustion beginning to take over my limbs
as I held him there, waiting for Lord’s order to end the fight.
For a few seconds, time stopped. The cramped, damp den disappeared, leaving just me and my opponent, our breaths
blending together, both with our faces covered by a thin cloth, with slits just large enough for our eyes so we could see without
revealing our identities.
Of course, I could identify a male with much more than his features. I could identify him by the way he walked, the size of
his shoulders, the sharpness of his fae ears, the sway in his stance.
But it didn't matter who he was. It didn’t matter who I was, either. We were simply pawns, simply weapons in this wicked,
dark world. With one swift motion, I could end his life.
We were all that fragile.
A low growl came from my opponent’s chest, reminding me of who and where I was.
I turned my attention to the back wall, where Lord lurked in waiting.
“Sloppy,” he muttered.
I scrambled off my opponent and sheathed my weapon, standing tall with my hands clasped behind my back, waiting for
more instruction.
My opponent did the same.
Not so cocky now, are you?
That had been another key component I had learned during my lifetime of studying killers under Lord: Everyone bowed to
someone.
Lord stepped forward with a lazy amount of patience, making us wait every torturous second. His typical dark, perfectly
creased trousers and spotless shirt nearly blended with the underground stone around him, the tiny stream of moonlight
reflecting off the shine in his hair. He stood with his shoulders back and his hands relaxed, but he towered over everyone in
Midgrave with no effort at all. He was aging, yes, but his presence alone still made even the most ferocious fighters tremble
before him.
“I expected more from you both,” he drawled. I dipped my chin, unable to look at him as he continued. “If he were a
vampyre, you would have been torn to shreds.”
“Yes, Lord,” I replied, keeping my head down.
I stared at the ground in front of me, not wanting to see the lingering doubt that would be all over Lord’s face.
“And you,” he said, turning his attention to the male beside me. “You let a female half your size take you off your feet. That
is an embarrassment, and not one I will allow here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord,” he grumbled.
I tried not to smile.
Being satisfied by my opponent’s criticism would not lessen my own, and my punishments did not end here with words.
I was not just another assassin being trained by Lord to kill any and every threat that entered Midgrave. Lord had made
killing vampyres his life purpose. He gave everything he had to protect the fae of Midgrave from those monsters, and he
expected more from me. He expected perfection.
And that fight was nothing close to perfect.
The male was strong, stronger than most. It was hard to tell with the disguised faces, but I was certain I hadn’t fought one
that strong before.
Maybe Lord was testing me, finding stronger opponents to push my strength.
When I looked up again, Lord was already staring at me. I had learned the meaning behind most of his facial expressions
over the years, either from all the hours we spent together or as a form of protection.
Either way, I was always expecting, always watching, searching for those clues.
Like when his lips tightened into a thin line, curling slightly in the corners as he squinted his eyes.
That meant I was royally fucked.
It took everything in me not to cower away when I saw that expression grow on his mouth, followed by the darkness of
disappointment in his aged eyes.
 “Do you two think killing vampyres is easy?”
“No, Lord,” we answered in unison.
Lord stepped forward. “Do you believe Phantom is a waste? That fighting against the blood-sucking creatures is below
you?”
I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek. Of course I didn’t think that. I, too, had given everything to become the best
vampyre killer in Midgrave—aside from Lord.
Lord’s gaze shifted from us to the shadows of the underground den. I felt the weight of his golden, piercing eyes physically
lift away from me.
“When I started Phantom after the war, I saw it as the only way fae in Midgrave would survive. Many of the surrounding
fae kingdoms had already been ravished by the fall of the vampyre kingdom. Nobody stood a chance.” He paused for a few
seconds. My chest tightened. “But I was not going to back down like the others. This place was my home. I decided to stay and
fight against the depraved beasts, and I trained as many as I could to stand and fight with me.
“Phantom was not created with weak attempts at fighting and ill-prepared assassins. Phantom was forged out of perfection,
crafted with a desperate desire to survive, to kill as many vampyres as possible and to remind those blood-thirsty monsters
who was in charge here. I did not become the master of vampyre killers by allowing my fighters to make mistakes and train
with sloppy punches. When I tell you to kill, you damn well better be prepared to kill. When I tell you to fight, it better be the
best damn fight I have ever seen. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, Lord.” I knew what Lord had done to protect Midgrave, what he had done to protect me. Hearing him say the words
himself, however, pulled the air from my lungs.
He was the only reason Midgrave survived. He was the only reason I survived. When my parents were killed during the
war, Lord found me. He took me in, protected me. He did not raise me to be soft. He did not raise me to be just another victim
the vampyres could drain of blood.
No, he raised me to be unstoppable.
I flinched as his eyes slid back to us.
“You both may go,” he said, sounding nothing but bored.
That was it. No second chances. No do-overs. I had one chance at showing Lord how strong I was every week, and this
week? I let that male get multiple blows in. Hells, he almost won. Lord did not expect me to fight like all the other Phantoms.
No, I was supposed to be the best. I was supposed to be his mirror, fighting like the goddess herself and making not a single
mistake.
My instinct was to stand up for myself, to tell Lord I could be better. Could fight better. But arguing with him only made
him angrier.
Words won’t help you, he would say. And he was right.
My fighting would help me. Getting better, stronger, faster would save me from his punishments.
Not my words.
I dipped my head and followed the male out of the den, walking in silence through the small, tunneled entrance of the
underground cave until the cool night air hit my face.
The male did not hesitate before bolting down the alleyway, away from Phantom, away from me. I turned on my heel,
running into the night, through the dark alleyways and covered entrances.
It was one of Lord’s first rules. Nobody knew the other Phantoms. Nobody revealed their identity. We fought for training
purposes, but we never uncovered our faces.
We all remained safe that way. Becoming friends with the others, building relationships with them, it would only distract
us. It would take away from our true purpose of killing the enemy.
I continued running from my opponent, my black combat boots guiding me through the damp alleyways set out before me.
The route was so familiar now, and I loved being outside at night after the streets emptied and the moon rose.
Midgrave wasn’t nearly as hideous when the shadows took over, hiding the harsh reality of what really remained in these
streets.
The homeless children, the starving animals, the mounds of rubbish. They barely stood out now, when the only thing to be
seen was darkness.
I trudged past a building that used to be a school, now with only two walls still standing and a pile of rubble where fae
children used to learn. Beyond that were a few newly built homes, each with four walls and a roof. It wasn’t much, but around
here, it was practically a luxury. A few of the older residents lived there now—ones that had survived long enough to earn
those new homes.
A few voices and a fit of laughter rang out in the alleyway next to me, but I lowered my head and continued walking.
Making friends was not a skill of mine, and I found that keeping to myself was the best way to stay focused. The smell of
burning wood and cooked meat wafted through the wind, making my stomach flip.
Midgrave was not small by any means, but it felt that way to me. It felt constrained. Those walls surrounding the perimeter
that were once built to keep the vampyres out sometimes felt like my personal boundary in the world—a boundary I could
never escape.
I neared the familiar brick building at the edge of our run-down city, the same brick building that had been a beacon for me
for over two decades. It was the tallest building left in Midgrave, nearly three stories high. I enjoyed the vantage point; it made
me feel protected. Prepared.
This was home. As shitty and rugged as it was, this crumbling space still brought me comfort.
Almost as much comfort as the familiar figure I saw in the shadows, already lounging on the roof with her booted foot
dangling off.
Rummy.
A smile spread across my face as I slowed my jog, ducking into the hidden doorway at the bottom of the building and
striding up the stone stairs two at a time until I reached the top. The shattered window that led to the roof remained open, and I
ducked my head to step through.
Rummy and her smooth golden hair didn’t move as I walked up beside her, careful that my boots didn’t slip against the few
slick remaining shingles before sitting down.
We let silence linger between us for a few minutes. That was one thing I liked most about Rummy: She understood how
comforting the night was. I breathed, taking in the cooling air that somehow seemed cleaner up here. Fresher.
I let my foot mimic Rummy’s, hanging off the edge of the roof as I reclined onto my back.
“You look like shit,” she remarked, twisting her neck until her dark green eyes met mine. “Bad fight?”
I blew out a puff of air. “You really have a way with words,” I joked. Peering out at the city, I shrugged. “It was fine. I
won.”
She propped herself onto her elbow and scanned my face in the darkness. Her pointed ears twitched as she focused in on
me. “Fine isn’t good, Hunt. Lord isn’t going to let that go.”
“I know,” I answered, trying not to snap at her. “I did my best. He was a lot bigger than me and a hell of a lot stronger. But I
still won.”
Rummy shook her head. “How long has it been since your last punishment? Two weeks? Has your skin even healed?”
“It’s healed enough,” I said stiffly.
My mind wandered to the lingering pain on my back, the dull stinging that hadn’t quite disappeared since I lost a fight two
weeks ago.
It was rare for me to make a mistake.
It was even more rare for me to lose a fight.
Lord didn’t approve.
Rummy knew Lord. She wasn’t a Phantom, but she had been my friend since I was a child. If Lord knew she existed, he
didn’t show it. Sometimes, I thought he knew about our late-night meetups and hidden conversations in the shadows, and maybe
he let me have this. Let me have this friendship.
Rummy was strong and fierce and loyal, but she despised him. She hated that I was a Phantom, and she hated that Lord
controlled me. She was smart enough to pick up on a few things over the years: bruised fists, lashings on my back, days where I
went missing with no contact.
I saw it in her eyes, in the way she flinched slightly when I told her about my fights and my training sessions.
“Don’t say it,” I sighed.
“Say what?”
“Whatever judgmental and incredibly unhelpful comment you’re about to make.”
She huffed, throwing a hand up. “I just don’t understand why you don’t leave. You could run, Huntyr. You could escape, and
he would never find you!”
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. “You know I can’t do that, Rummy.”
“But why?” she demanded.
We had the same conversation every few months, but lately, they had gotten more and more frequent. Rummy had a certain
desperation about her she could hardly contain.
Lately, though, my training had grown more intense. My fights were harder, my punishments fiercer. Lord had been leaving
no room for error, not from me or from any of the Phantoms.
But Rummy didn’t understand. Nobody could. Lord may have been just a teacher to the rest of the Phantoms, but not to me.
He had taken me in when I needed him the most. He had raised me as his own daughter.
It wasn’t as simple as leaving Midgrave. I would be leaving the closest thing I had to a father. And worse, I would be
disappointing him.
That was something I couldn’t bear to live with.
“I need him,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s made me strong. He’s made me a survivor.”
“He’s made you his pet.” Rummy turned her face back up to the sky, spitting out the word pet as if it were poison. “Are you
going to let him control your life forever?”
She didn't get it. She didn’t understand. Every fight, every punch, every whipping—it was all to strengthen me. It was all so
I could survive out there in the world with them, the bloodsucking vampyres who took everything from us.
Those creatures killed my parents. They took my family away from me. The only reason they didn’t kill me as well was
because of Lord. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all part of some wicked plan from the goddess, if I wasn’t meant to live
this fate so that I, too, could protect people from those killers.
But darkness crept closer to Midgrave every day. Soon, it would take over.
Lord only wanted to prepare me. He wanted to keep me alive long enough to save Midgrave, to save myself.
“Forget it,” Rummy mumbled, shaking her head when I didn’t respond. “You’re going to need this tonight.” She reached
into the cloth satchel beside her and pulled out a silver flask, twisting the top open and taking a long pull of whatever was
inside.
I sat up as she passed the flask to me, hissing as she swallowed the liquid.
Strangely, I found peace in these encounters with Rummy. “Thank you,” I murmured. Even in the dark night, I caught a
glimpse of her smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
I put the flask to my lips and drank, letting the liquid burn my throat and stomach. I didn’t cough, didn’t grimace. The burn
was a pleasant distraction.
Rummy laughed. “You’d have to take your whippings without our liquid friend, for one,” she said.
“I take it back,” I mused. “You are cruel.” I passed the flask back to her. “And who knows? Maybe Lord is feeling
particularly kind this evening.”
Her smile slowly disappeared, all hints of amusement swiftly wiped from her face. “Yeah,” she said, her snarky tone
replaced with a genuine one, “maybe.”
 Chapter

Two

M
y senses were comfortably dulled by the time Rummy slipped from the roof, disappearing into the night and leaving me
alone.
Without her presence, my mind wandered. Lord usually came home later in the evening, well past midnight. Maybe
something would keep him busy tonight. Maybe he would wait until tomorrow to reprimand me for my mistake during the fight.
Or, if I were lucky, perhaps he would come home and send me on a mission instead, teaching me a different lesson by
putting me in the face of danger.
It had been weeks since he sent me on a mission, and my hands shook with the need for another fight.
A real one this time. A true fight. With one of them, the monsters that lingered in the depths of the shadows.
I shook my head. Stop thinking that way, Huntyr. If Lord punishes you, you’ll take it. Tomorrow will come, and it will be
done. You’ll be a better Phantom because of it.
I slipped my body back through the broken window and wandered down the stone steps until I reached the bottom floor.
Home.
I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach, ignored the way every instinct in my body told me not to go inside the small
room I called my home. That was natural. I had to get over that fear of pain.
With a deep breath, I pushed the wooden door open and stepped inside.
Aside from my half-rotted mattress on a cot near the wall and chair in the corner, the room remained empty. It wasn’t much,
and I never cared for many material things, but it was home. This space was mine, and that was enough.
Not this time, though. This time, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a lantern lit up the back corner of the room.
Shit.
Lord was already home.
I closed the door behind me with a slow certainty and stopped, standing and waiting.
“Lord,” I greeted, swallowing over the newfound lump in my throat.
He sat in the chair beside the lantern, his legs stretched out before him and his arms draped over the sides. His short hair,
always perfectly greased back, shined in the dim lighting. Not a single piece ever strayed from its position. Not a single piece
of black clothing wrinkled, not a single speck of dirt on those slacks.
Always perfect. Always the master.
“You disappointed me today, Huntyr,” he began.
I dropped my head. “Yes, Lord. My opponent was stronger than I expected him to be.”
Lord stood from the chair with unexpected speed, crossing the room in two big strides. “Now you make excuses? You think
it is his fault that you struggled during the fight?”
I stumbled over my words, “No, Lord, I–”
A hand cut across my cheek. The stinging on my face was nothing compared to the shame that crept through my body. I
deserved it.
“It cannot happen again,” he commanded.
I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from seeping out. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Lord challenged, his musky breath brushing over the now-sensitive skin on my face. “I’ve tried, Huntyr. I’ve
tried to protect you, to train you for the dangers of the world. Do you understand how much I have sacrificed for you? How
much I risked by saving your life? Do you know just how special you are?”
I did not answer.
“Many of the Phantoms would take your place in an instant to be brought up by me, to be personally trained by me from
childhood. You are a weapon, Huntyr. A sword. There is no room for error here.”
“I can do better,” I mumbled. “I’ll train harder, I’ll get stronger.”
The silence that lingered between us seemed to last for minutes. “You will,” he replied finally. “You have no other choice.”
Lord turned to walk toward the back of the room once more, only pausing for a second to tilt his head toward the ceiling
and exhale, long and slow. Perhaps he wouldn’t punish me this time. Perhaps his disappointment would be enough.
But he reached for the whip that always sat in the corner, propped against the wall. I knew then that I was very wrong.
What came next was no surprise.
“Turn around.”
Another beat of silence. My heart stuttered in my chest.
“Yes, Lord.” I did as I was told, moving in slow-motion as I turned and lifted my training garments, peeling away the black
leathers and matching black undershirt until I stood facing the door with nothing on but my chest wrap.
The first lash came quickly, unexpectedly. I hissed in pain when the leather snapped through the air, smacking against my
scarred, bare back. My hands slapped against the wooden door, holding me up as I braced myself.
“Do you think I enjoy this?” Lord demanded. “Do you think I want to hurt you, Huntyr?”
Another smack of the whip, lower this time. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.
“I do this for you!” he pushed.
Another lash.
Another.
Tears streamed down my face now, and I was happy Lord could not see my lapse of strength.
Tears were weak. Showing pain was weak.
I eventually lost count of the lashes. Seven, maybe eight.
My vision blurred, my head grew heavy. My forehead fell against the wooden door in front of me as I struggled to stay
upright. They were just lashings. This was the punishment I deserved, no worse than any of the others I had received.
I nearly cried out in relief when I heard him drop the whip to the ground. “Look at me,” Lord ordered.
I wiped my face quickly before turning to face him, lifting my chin to meet his steely gaze. I only saw a quick glimpse of
anger in his eyes before it melted away to a soft expression of pity, of care.
“Oh, Huntyr,” he cooed. “You have so much potential.” He stepped forward and caressed my cheek. “You could be the one
to save us all, you know. It is why I put so much pressure on you.”
I fought to stay upright.
“You understand why it must be this way, right, child?”
I bit the inside of my cheek before answering, “Yes, Lord. I understand.”
He smiled softly, tilting his head to the side as he scanned my face. “Good,” he replied. “Get some rest. I have a very
special task coming for you soon. You’ll want to be ready.”
His hand slipped from my cheek as he stepped away, walking out of the door. I listened as his footsteps quietly
disappeared, the sounds of him slipping into the room below mine affirming he was really gone before I let myself crumble to
the floor.
Hells, I hated him at times. I hated him for hurting me, for turning me into this weapon—into this shell of a fae.
But I also hated myself for disappointing him, for bringing this punishment upon myself.
Darkness swarmed my vision. I could no longer see that lantern in the corner of the room. I knelt on the floor and pressed
my forehead against the cool wood. My tears dripped and dripped and dripped as I allowed myself pity, only for a moment.
And then I stopped. I sat up, pushing myself onto my knees. I wiped the snot and tears from my face with the back of my
hand.
I was better than this. I could overcome anything.
My back screamed in agony, the blood trickling down my skin until it hit the waistband of my training pants.
I was better than this.
If I could just do what I was fucking told and fight better, fight stronger, this wouldn’t happen. It was my fault, I reminded
myself. My fault that Lord was upset. My fault that my skills were not perfect.
Mistakes would get me killed.
This pain? At least I still lived to feel it.

I
woke up in my bed, unsure of when I had finally managed to crawl the few feet to the low cot. My shirt was still off, but
that was a good sign. That meant my back was getting some air.
My mouth grew stiff with dryness and my muscles ached. I had to get up.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been asleep. Sometimes, the lashings would cause me to pass out for days. The worst was
when they grew infected, or during the hot months when I couldn't keep the sweat from seeping into the wounds.
 This wasn’t so bad.
I pushed myself up to my feet, stifling a groan as the scabbed skin on my back cracked. The sun crept through the fabric that
covered the window, bright enough to be past mid-day.
I had to get up, had to drink water and eat something before I passed out again.
Don’t be weak, Huntyr. It’s just a whipping; it will heal like it always does.
I stumbled to my feet and almost fainted when the blood rushed from my head. I just had to—
A rush of pain hit me, followed by an unexpected wave of nausea. I half-ran, half-stumbled to the tiny bathroom connected
to my nearly empty room, vomiting up nothing but stomach bile as I dropped to my knees near the toilet.
Fuck. That was not a good sign. I tried to spit in the toilet to cleanse the bile that now covered my dry mouth, but it was
nearly impossible. I hadn’t eaten anything. My body needed fuel if I was going to regain my strength anytime soon.
A knock on my door made me tense.
“Go away!” I yelled as I threw a hand up and flushed the toilet. Rummy was probably coming back to check on me, and I
was in no mood for her antics. She needed no more reason to hate Lord.
The door opened anyway.
“It’s me,” Lord called out as he slipped inside. “I brought you ointment and something to eat.”
My eyes shot open. Thank the goddess. I would normally be ashamed for Lord to see me like this with my head hung over
the toilet and sweat plastering my black curls to my forehead, but I was in absolutely no condition to argue with that.
Lord was the one who had inflicted these wounds, yes, but he was always a provider to me when I needed it, too. He kept
me at his mercy; I was smart enough to know that.
But I wasn’t strong enough to fight it, especially not now.
I sagged in relief.
Lord stepped forward, pausing at the bathroom door to take in what he saw. “Here,” he said, extending his hand and hauling
me from the floor. “You need to eat, or you’ll get too weak.”
I let him help me back to my cot. He set me down gently, careful not to touch any of the open wounds on my back.
Once I was fully seated back in my bed, he turned to dig into a paper bag he brought with him. “This will help your back
heal,” he said, pulling out a glass container.
It wasn’t rare for Lord to bring me food, especially after a rough training day. But healing ointment? “Why would you bring
me this?”
He exhaled loudly, showing me a small sliver of the stress that I suspected ran in his veins at all times. Protecting the entire
city from vampyres had weighed on him over the years. His once jet-black hair now had tendrils of white laced throughout, his
fierce eyes now accompanied by fine lines etched into the surrounding skin. “Like I said, child, I need you to be prepared for
anything. I raised you to be a fighter.”
I didn’t object when he opened the container and knelt beside me, the dirty floor getting dust all over his pristine black
pants as he strategically applied the ointment to the ripped skin of my back. I hissed and flinched away at first, but Lord’s touch
grew softer.
These were the moments—those soft, caring times in between brutal fights and slaughtering vampyres—that Rummy would
never understand. Lord did care for me, even if it did not always appear that way on the outside. The way his fingers barely
contacted my poor skin, the way he pretended not to notice my sigh of pain.
It was our version of love, our unsaid message that we were family, we would take care of each other.
After a few seconds, the stinging pain in my back turned to a dull ache.
Relief flooded my senses as the healing herbs and tonics seeped into my skin. It was easy to forget what my body felt like
without the pain until the nonstop agony finally subsided.
“Thank you,” I whispered through my cracked lips. I took a pain-free breath for the first time since before my punishment.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Lord replied. His voice held no malice or anger. This wasn’t a visit from the assassin
master, it was a visit from the man who took in a child when she needed help. “I’m here to talk to you.”
I peered at him over my shoulder. “About what?”
He finished rubbing the ointment across my back, then returned it to the paper bag, tossing it onto the cot.
“Eat,” he ordered.
I obeyed, digging into the bag and pulling out a loaf of bread and an apple. I immediately ripped the bread open with my
teeth.
Lord pulled the chair from the corner closer to my cot. “What do you remember about The Golden City?” he asked as he sat
down casually.
The Golden City. I quickly recalled everything I had been told about the place. It was a hidden society, one that only the
strongest fae could get into. Angels used to live there too, but that was before they became nearly extinct.
The ones that were too good for this life, the ones that were strong and wealthy and smart, they all made it to The Golden
City. Of course, you couldn’t just walk right up to it and ask to be let in. It was completely secret, from what it took to enter to
what happened once you were inside.
All I knew was that for people like me, for people like the citizens of Midgrave, it was too far out of reach. We were
raised here, with crumbling buildings and starving children. We did not possess the skills required to make it into The Golden
City. They lived like the goddess herself while the rest of us suffered.
We would never be good enough. We would never be like them.
“It’s an elite society,” I replied, swallowing another bite of bread with a shrug. “Only the strongest fae can get in, only the
absolute best.”
“That’s correct,” Lord said. “Do you know what’s so special about The Golden City?”
I pursed my lips. “No homeless children. No sick mothers. No unsolved crimes. They’re all perfect, apparently. Better than
us, that’s for damn sure.” The words felt bitter rolling off my tongue. I had never met anyone who lived in The Golden City, but
I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live with such ridiculous luxuries while fae like us barely survived.
“They are untouchable,” Lord continued, nodding his head. “Because they possess special gifts. They wield magic freely,
pulling power from the archangels.”
I paused my chewing. “Magic? How is that possible?”
Years and years before the war, fae like us had free rein to wield magic whenever they pleased. I’ve heard stories of
mothers using fire magic to warm their children, of farmers using magic to adjust the winds and save their crops.
But now? Not a scrap of magic existed in Midgrave. I had a hard time believing it existed anywhere, even in The Golden
City. The magic came from the archangels, and without them, we had nothing.
“There are a lot of things that go on there, Huntyr. Things the rest of us could not even fathom.”
I set down the rest of my bread. “Why are you telling me this, Lord?”
He took a long breath. My nerves erupted, tightening my chest. It wasn’t like him to act this way, so unsure. He braced his
elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together as he said, “I’m sending you there, child. Your next assignment is to make it
into The Golden City.”
My blood froze in my veins. “Is this some sort of test?”
Lord smiled softly. “No. This is no test. You must pass a series of challenges with others who are attempting to become one
of the elites, and you’ll be one of the very best.”
I shook my head. It was all way too much information. “But why? Why now, and why me?”
He leaned forward, seeking my face with his eyes. “You are the one I trust the most out there, my child. There’s something I
need from you once you are inside, something I cannot trust with anyone else here.”
My heart fluttered. “What is it?”
“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, sitting up straighter. “For now, we must worry about getting you inside.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. How am I supposed to do that?”
Lord explained the process, starting with a special academy I would be forced to attend. I had never heard of the academy,
but I suppose I never wondered much about the exact process of making it into The Golden City. Living there was never an
option for me, and thinking about how to get in was a monumental waste of time.
The academy, Moira Seminary, would push me to my limits, physically and mentally. I would learn even more physical
combat, as well as how to wield magic, magic that we had only heard about in legends from our elders.
“Why?” I asked, my brow creasing. “What are they preparing us for?”
“The Golden City is home to the strongest, most powerful fae and angels that exist, Huntyr. The city is a frequent target for
enemy attacks and vampyres. They have become so elite because every single citizen within those towering walls can defend
themselves. They earned the right to be there.”
I considered his words. “You’re saying we’ll be training to protect The Golden City before we’re allowed to live there?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “That’s right.”
“And what if I fail? What if I don’t make it through Moira?”
Lord leaned forward again, coming a mere few inches from my face, so I could feel his breath on my skin when he
whispered, “Failing is not an option, child. You’ll make it through Moira, or you will die like the other students who are not
strong enough to pass. Do you understand your assignment?”
Fear threatened to infiltrate my senses, but I pushed it away and lifted my chin. “Yes,” I answered. “I understand the
assignment. When do I leave?”
Lord sat back in his chair, apparently pleased with my answer. “Three days. Get plenty of rest. No more training for you;
you have everything you need.”
He stood to exit, leaving me speechless on my cot.
Three days? How was I supposed to prepare for a secret elite academy in just three days? My back certainly wouldn’t heal
in that amount of time, even with ointment, and I was in no condition for combat training. Not after what Lord did to me.
“Wait,” he said before he reached the door. “I forgot something.” He returned to the chair before unclipping the sheathed
dagger from his belt and handing it to me. “Here. I want you to have this.”
 I glanced at him in disbelief. This was so unlike Lord, even now. “You’re giving me your dagger?”
He nodded. “Her name is Venom. She’s been with me through many life-or-death trials, and now she’ll be with you.”
I took the weapon from his grasp, stunned by the solid weight of it. I slowly removed it from the black sheath, amazed by
the green emeralds embedded into the perfectly sized silver handle. “She’s beautiful,” I whispered. “But I cannot accept this,
Lord.”
“You can, and you will. Let it remind you of why you’re in that school, of what your end goal is. You are the only one who
can do this, Huntyr. It must be you.” His words held a certain desperation. “This is what your entire life has been leading up
to.”
I nodded, hesitantly accepting the weapon. I still didn’t know why it had to be me, why he couldn’t trust one of the other
assassins to do it. But Lord was not a trusting person at heart, and whatever he needed me to do inside The Golden City
seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders.
It was just another mission. I could handle it.
Lord stood and left me alone without another word. I placed the sheathed weapon—Venom—under my pillow, scarfed
down the rest of the bread and apple, and drifted into a deep, deep sleep.
 Chapter

Three

T
he pain that screamed in my back had dulled to a constant yet manageable burn as Rummy and I made our way through
Midgrave. We walked the same route every week around this time; just as the sun was setting and the beautiful rays of
gold and orange flickered over the fallen ruins of our town.
Normally, Rummy and I would talk over each other, explaining every detail of our lives since we last spoke.
This time, though, we walked in silence.
I shoved my hands into my black jacket, my boots crunching over the dirt and rocks as we listened to the sounds of
surrounding life: the constant thud from Midgrave’s only metal welder in the distance, cries from a screaming baby, the
cheerful voices coming from the half-crumbled but still functioning bakery.
And, of course, the half-drunk fae who grew louder and louder with every glass of golden ale they consumed at the tavern.
That’s where Rummy and I were headed—the local watering hole.
Like most of the establishments in Midgrave, there was no longer a door. Just an opening in the grey stone that we quickly
ducked into before being greeted with a usual cheer from the other fae inside.
“There you are!” the barmaid, Sophia, yelled as soon as we made our way to our usual table near the back. A cloth hung
over her shoulder as she set two ales down for the men at the bar, quickly flashed that perfect smile, and made her way in our
direction. “I was starting to think you both forgot about me.”
“Please,” Rummy scoffed. “If we ever forget about you, that means the entirety of Midgrave has crumbled, and you can find
our bones with the ashes.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, quickly busying herself with pouring our ales. Rummy made herself comfortable across from me,
slipping off her black leather jacket and leaning forward with both elbows on the small wooden table.
“First round is on me,” she said as she returned, placing the large mugs in front of us. Her bright gaze lingered on me. “You
look like you need this.”
I said nothing as I picked up the mug and took two large gulps. I felt their eyes on me, but I didn’t care. They had both seen
me in much, much worse condition. A few bruises and a stiff back were nothing.
I set the mug back on the table with a clank. “I’m feeling better already,” I said with a wink.
Sophia pulled the cloth from her shoulder as she spun around, her icy hair trailing behind her as she got back to work.
Rummy, however, eyed me for a second longer. My sarcasm wasn’t nearly as effective on her. She knew me too well.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked. Her bright green eyes scanned my face, piercing my soul. “Was Lord’s punishment that
bad?”
My foot tapped against the bottom of the table. I was thrilled that Lord wanted me to go to The Golden City, even more so
that he trusted me to complete whatever this mission entailed.
But leaving Rummy?
She had no one else. Like most of the fae who used to live in Midgrave before it turned to…well, this crumbling, pathetic
excuse for a home, her parents were killed by vampyres years ago during the last large attack. Her and I had a lot in common,
actually. We both had nobody.
Nobody except each other.
But the train to the academy would leave in days, and I had to tell her, eventually.
“I’m leaving,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Rummy’s dark brows drew together. “Okay…”
I leaned in, matching her posture with both elbows on the table, and I lowered my voice. “I’m going to The Golden City.”
It took a few moments for my words to register. She quietly picked up her mug, taking the first sip of ale since we arrived.
The rest of the tavern seemed to disappear entirely as I watched her, waiting for her response.
She set her mug down and met my gaze. “I’m waiting for more of an explanation here,” she started, “because there is no
way in all hells that you randomly decided to get into that place. You do know that most fae don’t even get in, right?”
Another few heavy seconds passed. I tapped my fingers against my mug. “Lord is sending me on a mission there.”
 Rummy leaned back in her chair, rolled her eyes, and threw her hands up in the air. “There it is. There’s the truth behind
this horrifically idiotic idea.”
“It’s not idiotic,” I retorted. “Can you hear me out, please?”
Her nostrils flared, and I knew Rummy well enough to know that her temper was raging within her right now.
She crossed her toned arms over her chest. “Fine. Start talking. And this better be good.”
“I’ve been training for this all my life, Rummy. Lord made sure I was prepared. I’m the best damn fighter in Midgrave. I’ve
killed hundreds of vampyres, if not more, and this could be my ticket out of here.”
A flash of hurt crossed her features. “You want to leave that badly?”
I shrugged, taking another sip of ale. “If it were up to me, I would be perfectly happy staying here and protecting Midgrave
from those bloodsuckers. You know that. But Lord needs me to do this, Rummy. We both know I owe it to him.”
She scoffed before looking away.
“What?” I pushed.
She shook her head before finally meeting my gaze, an intensity I had never seen before lingering there. “You can’t keep
letting him control you, Hunt. Yeah, he took you in as a baby and raised you as his own, but was it fucking worth it? I mean,
look at you! I bet if I looked at your back right now, it would be covered with reasons you shouldn’t give a shit about him or his
orders.”
I shushed her, quickly glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one had heard. “Keep your voice down!” I whispered.
“My bad, wouldn’t want the big, scary Lord to hear me talking this way to his precious Huntyr.”
“Goddess,” I mumbled. “I thought you might at least be the tiniest bit happy for me. I’m actually getting out of here, Rummy.
How many times have we talked about leaving this place? How many times have you urged me to run away from here? Well,
here I am, finally doing it. And you’re so angry, you can’t even fake a tiny smile for me.”
She gave me a half-laugh. “Please, when have I ever been one to fake anything?”
I waited for another argument, another retort, another piercing glare, but none came. Rummy’s smile lingered long enough to
break the tension building between us.
Hells. She wanted the best for me. I knew that. Nobody truly understood the relationship I had with Lord, the life debt I
would be forever paying back. He took me in and saved my life, giving me the strength and skills I needed to stay alive in a
vampyre-riddled kingdom.
I would do anything he asked of me. It was that simple.
“I am happy for you,” Rummy said after a while. “I’m going to miss you like fucking crazy, but if anyone deserves to get
into The Golden City, it’s you.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “I’ll come back and visit you once I’m in,” I added. “Moira Seminary only lasts a couple of
months, and as soon as I’m finished with this mission, I’ll come back home. Lord says I have to learn magic, but I have no clue
how that will be possible.”
Her eyes widened at the mention of magic. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shook my head. “Not in the slightest.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. Her shiny hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward, the grin on her face
spreading from ear to ear. “Okay, tell me everything.”
So I did. I told her everything Lord and I discussed, from the combat training, to the magic that existed in The Golden City. I
told her about the strongest fae that would compete with me to get in, about how mysterious everything was, how secretive. Her
face lit up as I told her about the magic, about how I would be able to use it after they trained us at the academy.
By the time our conversation was over and two more mugs of ale were emptied, any arguments lingering between us faded
entirely. That was another thing I loved about Rummy. No matter how much we fought, it was quickly forgiven.
“I fucking love you,” she mumbled as we both stood from the table. She slipped her black jacket on and threw an arm over
my shoulder. “And if you don’t make it back here alive someday, I’m really going to be pissed.”
That, I believed.

W
ith only one day remaining until I left Midgrave for an unknown amount of time, I trekked out to the woods that
surrounded the city. I found it much easier to clear my head out here, with nothing but the tall masses of trees and
trickling water of the river to distract me.
Rummy would kill me if she knew I was coming out here alone. There are vampyres outside of the city, she
would argue. You shouldn’t be going out there by yourself!
I wished a vampyre would try to attack me. It would give me an excuse to tear their heart out.
Besides, Lord trained me to be a killer. Vampyre or fae, I would be perfectly fine.
I kept walking, my black combat boots crunching over the cold forest ground, until I found the familiar, secluded spot
beside the narrow river. Thank the goddess.
Even with the ointment Lord had given me for my back, I needed the cold, refreshing water of the river to relax my muscles
before my journey tomorrow.
The sun was still setting, but I didn’t care. Nobody else would dare to wander this far from Midgrave.
I dropped my bag and stripped off my leather jacket and boots, followed by my shirt and pants. I tossed everything into a
pile until I stood in the forest with nothing but my underwear and chest wrap.
Those, I would leave on. Just in case.
I quickly knelt, sitting on the edge of the riverbank as I dipped my feet in first. It was cold, but I needed cold. I needed
clarity. After telling Rummy about my new mission, a weight lifted from my shoulders. Now, I had nothing holding me back.
This was really happening. I was about to leave my entire life behind to throw myself at the mercy of an elite academy.
Lord chose me for this. I wouldn’t disappoint him.
If I had to learn magic, if I had to pass special tests and become one of the elite, I would do it.
I had to admit, it sounded like an adventure. Something deep in my stomach flipped every time I thought about The Golden
City, about what might be lurking inside.
The water ran at an easy pace down the stream, tumbling over rocks at the far end of the bank. This area was deep enough
for me to bathe in when I needed it, which I appreciated, but not deep enough that I would have to swim. After rain, the river
would only be as high as my chest.
Not knowing how to swim was foolish, I knew that, but taking time to learn such things was a luxury I didn’t have. Finding
shallow portions of the river had become a skill of mine anyway.
With one push off my hands, I slid from the grassy ground of the riverbank and into the water, dunking beneath.
My bodily instincts were always the same: tensed muscles, frozen lungs. It was shocking to enter the uncomfortably cold
water, the icy underworld of the river. But after a few stunned seconds, I resurfaced, gasping for a breath.
The skin on my back screamed at the temperature until, slowly, the heat dissipated from the wounds.
Finally, I thought. A few minutes in this water would be enough to calm my body for tomorrow. The chill of the river
combined with the ointment from Lord would make me almost as good as new.
And yet uncertainty still swarmed in my mind. Lord explained so much to me, adding details I could have never imagined.
I’d barely even heard about The Golden City before two days ago, and now? It was all I could think about.
I was strong, yes. Lord made sure of that.
But elite?
It wasn’t only the fae of Midgrave that would fight with me for a chance to make it to The Golden City. It would be fae from
all over Vaehatis, from kingdoms I didn’t even know existed. How was I supposed to compete against them? Be stronger than
everyone?
I shook my head, ridding myself of those thoughts. It didn’t matter. Lord needed this from me, so it would be done. I would
find a way to survive, to make it through the academy. I had no other option.
It sounded ridiculous; I knew that, but after everything Lord did for me, I would risk my life for him.
I cupped the freezing water in my hands and threw it over my mess of dark curls that were now plastered to my forehead
and against my neck. I reached over my shoulders and brushed my fingertips across the wounds there. It wasn’t as painful as I
expected, which was a good sign.
A twig snapped in the distance.
I froze.
Nobody ever wandered this far into the forest. Nobody fae, anyway. Nobody from Midgrave.
Another crack of a leaf echoed in the tense silence. My pointed ears instinctively flickered in the direction, and my already
rapid heart sped up, pumping a lethal amount of adrenaline through my blood.
Someone lurked out there.
As quietly as possible, I crept to the edge of the river, keeping everything below my mouth hidden beneath the water.
My eyes scanned over the forest, landing on my clothes and bag in a pile by the river. Even if I was hidden, my clothes
were not.
Dammit, Huntyr. You just had to go for a dip today.
I waited a few more seconds, making sure no fae or vampyre bolted from the woods to attack me, before slowly slipping
from the shallows and crawling toward my clothes. I threw my black shirt on and slid my black trousers up my wet legs.
Shoving the rest of my clothes in my bag and carrying my boots, I crept backward, back toward the city lines of Midgrave.
Not even five footsteps in, I heard the rustling of leaves, followed by a low, animalistic growl. Everything in my body
screamed at me to run, which could only mean one thing. Vampyre.
I grabbed my new knife—Venom—and dropped my bag.
Come and get me, you blood-sucking bastard.
My heart pounded in my chest, just as wild as my breath, as I waited for my attacker. Vampyres were naturally instinctive
creatures, but their bloodlust made them idiots. Even the smartest among their kind would turn into rabid animals once they
were hungry enough.
That’s why they couldn’t be trusted.
“Come on,” I mumbled to myself. “I’ve got plenty of warm, fresh blood pumping through these veins. Come and get it.”
I rotated the dagger in my hand, getting used to its weight. It was heavier and more solid than any of the cheap, handmade
blades I had used during training, but it would work.
Anything would work if you were strong enough.
I waited and waited and waited, frozen in my crouched position with Venom in my hand.
But nothing came. No vampyre bolted from the woods, aiming their nasty teeth at my neck.
Nothing.
I sat there for a few more minutes, ensuring the vampyres had moved on, before throwing my boots on, sheathing Venom,
and silently making my way toward Midgrave.
If vampyres were this close, Midgrave was the next target.
And the Phantoms were the only ones standing between them and a slaughtered city.
 Chapter

Four

M
idgrave came into view ahead of me as I traveled back toward the city, with the tops of the crumbling walls shining
through the thinning line of trees from the surrounding forest. I could see the short wall that circled it, just fifty paces
away, but every instinct I had screamed that something was very wrong.
I picked up my pace, my jog soon morphing into a full-blown sprint. A scream split the air in the distance. Another
followed shortly after. Shit.
The sound of glass shattering echoed, making my blood run cold.
I yanked Venom from my sheath and ran faster.
A million scenarios ran through my mind as the crumbling walls of the city grew closer and closer. The logical explanation
would be the local bandits breaking into someone’s house.
But this early into the night?
I didn’t want to admit the other option. Because that meant more death. More violence.
If the vampyres made it into the city, I might be too late.
The barely standing stone wall that separated Midgrave from the forest taunted me, just a few feet away. My heart pumped
quickly but steadily, my lungs sucking in a powerful breath every second.
I used my free hand for leverage and swept my body over the waist-height wall in one motion.
Two more screams erupted, followed by an unmistakable growl of a hungry, soulless monster. My boots hit the dirt ground
again.
Again.
Again.
Dammit, Huntyr. Get to them. Get to Lord.
Vampyres had invaded before, of course, but with Lord and the rest of us Phantoms living within the city, they never got far.
The buildings grew more and more dense. Eventually, I began running into people—other fae who had heard the screams
and instantly panicked. I didn’t blame them; I would have done the same if it weren’t for my training.
Instead of running away from the danger, however, I ran toward it.
Straight fucking toward it.
The crowd grew thicker and thicker as I forced myself onward, pummeling through the narrow streets and around sharp
corners. Half the damn buildings were nothing but fallen stones that only made it harder for me to maneuver quickly.
But I made it work.
Closer and closer to Lord, closer and closer to home.
The pain in my back was nothing but a memory now, adrenaline pumping through me with every trained motion.
Another scream.
I stopped cold.
I knew that one. It sounded familiar. It sounded like… Rummy.
Nothing else mattered. I changed direction and pivoted straight for it, my hand gripping my weapon like my entire fucking
life depended on it.
Hells, maybe it did.
I heard the first vampyre before I saw it: grunts and half-breaths from a stumbling, rotting corpse. And that smell…
The aura of death pulled me in the direction of the monster, beckoning me ever-closer. I spotted it around a corner,
stumbling after an unnatural need for blood.
Disgusting.
It took me three strides to make it to the vampyre and one swift motion to slide my dagger into its back, piercing it through
the heart.
Killing it.
That’s one.
 The body crumbled and fell to the ground with a sickening thud. I stepped over the body without looking. My eyes focused
in the darkness, looking for the next beast.
Two more came sprinting out of the nearby alleyway, surprisingly fast for the lack of muscle on their bones. I threw myself
into action and slid Venom across the gut of the first one, not slowing down for even a second as I spun and stabbed the second
one in the neck.
That wasn’t enough to kill it, though. Vampyres still required fatal blows, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I pulled Venom
from the neck and pierced the closest vampyre in the heart before shoving the body aside and doing the same to the gutted
creature.
They both fell to the ground with sick grunts.
I held back my vomit. More screams rang out in the air around me, which meant more vampyres. Many, many more.
I didn’t miss a breath before jogging down the street and locating the next vampyre.
And the next.
There had been vampyres in Midgrave before, sure, but these seemed to be after something. Unless they had aimlessly
followed each other to this portion of Midgrave, they were all searching for the same thing.
I swallowed those thoughts; I would worry about it later.
Right now, I had to worry about killing.
By the time I reached Rummy’s house, I had slain five more decrepit beasts. Old, rotting blood now splattered my face,
smeared down my chest.
I spit to get the foul taste out of my mouth.
My feet marched one after the other, hardly controlled by me but rather by the desperate need to get to her. To kill anything
in my way.
I’m coming for you, Rummy.
I turned the corner, finding two vampyres in the street outside the door to Rummy’s unit.
My limbs screamed in exhaustion, my palm blistering from holding onto Venom so tightly.
The vampyres both turned and locked their attention onto me. My shoulder now bled from one of the dead creature’s claw
marks, which practically made me a beacon.
I spun Venom in my palm, raised my arm, and attacked.
They weren’t fucking touching her.
My limbs screamed at me, but my anger was stronger than any exhaustion. I would stop at nothing to protect these people
from the beasts that had taken everything from me.
These two vampyres were fresh—they still looked sane. One of them had long brown hair and wore a thick red dress, one
that made me wonder what she had been doing when she lost her sanity and became this.
It didn’t matter. Once the vampyres lost themselves to the bloodlust, there was no turning back.
I reminded myself of that as I let out a battle cry and pierced her in the chest.
Her friend—a male with blood dripping from his mouth—clawed in my direction. He was tall, an entire foot taller than me,
but it didn’t matter. I ducked below his outstretched hand and stabbed him in the chest.
Missing his damn heart.
He cried out, almost as if he could feel pain. He couldn’t. Once the soulless creatures became these monsters, all emotions
and feelings left them.
This vampyre wanted nothing but blood. My blood.
His long arms got to me before I could pierce his chest again. His disgusting fingernails raked themselves across my neck
and chest, ripping the front of my shirt and drawing even more blood.
Did I mention how much I fucking hated vampyres?
I screamed out, more in anger than in pain, and stabbed him again, my aim true to his heart. He froze for a moment before
falling to the ground, his body slipping away from Venom as I stood over him.
Another scream pulled my attention away from the couple—Rummy’s scream. I bolted up the few wooden stairs to her unit
and kicked the ajar door fully open.
Rummy struggled on the ground, a vampyre seconds away from ripping into her throat.
I threw Venom, and the blade landed in the side of the monster’s neck, spewing blood.
“In the chest, Rummy!” I screamed.
I made my way over to her, grabbing the beast by the arms and hauling it backward so she could grab Venom and dive the
dagger into its rotting heart.
She struggled at first, her hands shaking as she tried to grip Venom. Eventually, though, she did, and her screams echoed off
the walls as she delivered the fatal blow.
Rummy and I both froze there, waiting to ensure the creature was really dead.
Two seconds passed. Three. I threw the corpse to the floor beside us and dropped to my knees, heaving for breath after the
ordeal of running and fighting to make it in time.
“Thank you,” she gasped, her own chest rising and falling with adrenaline as well. “Thank you, Huntyr.”
“You can’t die,” I said between breaths. The words came out angrier than I meant them. “Who else would keep me sane,
Rummy? Hells, that was too fucking close.”
She scoffed. “I was asleep. I didn’t even realize one had entered my room until those cold, lifeless hands clawed at me!”
“They’re all over Midgrave.” I swallowed, pushing myself back up to my feet. “I’ve killed at least seven, but there are
more.”
“Go,” she said with a nod, immediately understanding what I had to do. “I’ll be fine here.”
My forehead creased with worry. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” she insisted, loosening Venom from the creature’s chest and handing it to me. “They need you more than I do. I’ll stay
out of trouble, I promise.”
“Close the door behind me,” I ordered. “Barricade it if you have to.”
She reached forward and pulled me into her arms—quickly but harshly—before shoving me toward the door. I took one
more breath, letting the cool night air fuel me, and ran back into the streets of death.
My feet were silent on the crumbling dirt. My fae ears begged for a sign, a signal. I stepped over the two kills from earlier.
Where are you, you bloodsuckers?
The hair on my arms rose, and it wasn’t from my wet clothing and the cool breeze of night.
Someone was near.
“You must have a death wish.” The male voice behind me made me jump. I spun around, dagger raised, ready to stab him
directly in the chest.
But what stood behind me wasn’t a vampyre. Not in the slightest. A tall, hooded man was before me, one so tall that I had
to bend my neck to look up at him, but that wasn’t the surprising part. Massive black wings spanned the sides of him and cast a
shadow on my face.
Not fae wings, either. They were not leathery and sharp but fell softly with hundreds of black feathers.
Angel wings.
Black angel wings.
He was not just an angel, which was already nearly impossible because they were supposed to be extinct.
He was a fallen angel.

I
gripped Venom even tighter. “Who are you?” I asked in a hushed tone.
He smiled, and I noticed the way his icy blue eyes glowed against the shadows of his hood. “I could ask you the same
thing,” he replied.
What was he…? Why did…? My mind ran through a dozen different questions but landed on one in particular. “You’re an
angel,” I breathed.
His smile only grew, though it was simply a sign of his apparent arrogance. “Fallen angel, actually. You’re quite
observant.”
“What are you doing here?” I pressed. I had to admit, I was tempted to throw Venom at him and run as quickly as I could
back in the direction I came.
I had seen many vampyres and killed even more. But an angel?
My heart continued to pound in my chest. Angels were powerful—more powerful than any fae that lived. They were
descendants from the archangels, and they possessed magic and very rare abilities that I was certain I did not want to find out
about here.
Plus, his wings were black. He did something to piss off the archangels, and I had no interest in discovering what that was.
This creature was dangerous. A threat.
The angel's eyes raked down my still-wet body, lingering for a moment on the dagger in my hand before he dragged them
back up to my face. Every one of my instincts lit up, much too aware that I hadn’t been trained to fight an angel.
They were stronger than fae and could wield magic freely. They had gifts I had never seen before, had never trained on
before. Mostly because—for a reason I was now questioning—angels did not exist in Vaehatis anymore.
Angels had been dwindling in numbers for decades, but lately it was rare to see one in the flesh at all. The angels that did
exist were meant to be living with the archangels in The Golden City.
I slowly backed away, instinct all but forcing my footsteps backward, until the angel bolted forward, grabbing me and
spinning me around while he wrapped a hand around my mouth and dragged me off my feet.
I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but the angel’s impossible strength kept me pinned to his body as I thrashed under his
grip.
He pulled us into an alleyway, deep into the shadows of darkness.
“Shhhh,” he hummed into my ear. “Your blood smells like cherries. The second they hear you, they’ll attack.”
I elbowed him in the ribs and thrashed out of his grasp, making a dash back into the street. I made it two steps before the
angel wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me backward, pinning my back against the crumbling wall with another
hand on my throat.
Yeah, I fucking hated this male.
“Is this what gets you off?” I seethed. “Saving random females from getting their throats ripped out by bloodsuckers, only to
use your brute strength against them while you do whatever you please?”
He bent down so his nose barely nuzzled my neck. I would have taken an assassin’s tongue for doing something that
ignorant back at Phantom. It was a blatant show of power, of strength.
But he was vastly stronger than me. There wasn’t much I could do as he ran his thumb up and down the front of my throat.
“There are a lot of things I get off on, little fae. I could show you sometime if you’d like to see.”
Footsteps in the street came closer, followed by the gutted grunting of the vampyres around us. Four, maybe five, based on
the number of steps. They usually traveled in groups, increasing their odds of feeding.
It was sick. Their insatiable need for blood, for the taste of flesh.
The angel leaned back and held a finger to his lips, motioning for me to be silent. I wanted to bite his damn finger off. I
didn’t need him to save me. Him, or anyone else. I was a trained assassin, the deadliest fae in Midgrave.
I could kill all five bloodsuckers at the same time if I needed to.
But there I was, back against the crumbling stone in the depths of the shadows, wavering under the hands of this fallen
angel.
The urge to kill took over, pulling me like a beacon toward the streets, toward the vampyres. If I could just get my knife up
to his throat…
“Don’t even try it,” he hissed in my ear. “You clearly know nothing about killing my species.” He glanced behind me at the
trees. “You seem to know plenty about getting yourself killed, though, after what I just witnessed.”
I shoved his chest. Hard. “Get away from me. I should gut you for putting a hand on me.”
He took a few steps back, and part of me wondered whether I actually had the ability to shove him, or if he was simply
humoring me. “Gut me?” he repeated with a slight scoff. He crossed his arms over his chest, dropping his chin to look up and
down dramatically with those piercing eyes. Again. “Careful, killer. I like my females violent, you know.”
“Shut up,” I hissed. The cool winter air now clung to my wet locks, my skin freezing with every breeze that blew past.
“You’re lurking in the streets and hiding from the vampyres. What do you want with me?”
He raised a brow. “What makes you think I want something from you?”
“The fact that you’re still here!” I sputtered.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and all hells, I couldn’t deny that he was attractive. With his hood now pushed back, I could
see his skin was dark and full of life, his black hair falling messily around his cut cheekbones. His eyebrows were thick, and
they shaped those magnetic blue…
What was I doing? I lifted my knife and charged, aiming Venom directly at his chest.
The angel caught my wrist with no effort and pressed forward, backing me up once again, his hand pinning mine above my
head. “Careful,” he sneered. “I bite.”
My back screamed in agony.
How the fuck did this keep happening?
Angel boy had to go.
“Get out of my way before those vampyres slaughter this entire city,” I bit back.
“You mean what’s left of this city? I hate to break this to you, but if I can hear and smell you,” he said, giving me a look that
sank my stomach, “so can they.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but his massive black angel wings spanned the sides of him, sucking any unformed
words from my mind.
I moved to shove him again, to squirm out from under his grasp and run into the street, but two more vampyres stumbled
into the alleyway. We both turned to look. The creatures distracted the angel boy just enough for me to slip from his grasp,
bolting in front of him.
Right toward the bloodsuckers.
The angel sighed behind me, but I kept my focus on the rotting flesh ahead. With Venom readjusted in my hand, I lunged.
But so did the monsters.
I only had one weapon, one small slice of death separating me from them. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the
alleyway caused me to adjust my usual maneuvers, limiting my movement.
I dove Venom into the first vampyre’s chest, holding her there while it struggled, all while kicking the second one away
from me with my black boot.
Its disgusting claws sliced the skin on my arms, aiming for my face, my throat. The bloody wounds only forced them into a
frenzy, leaving pain wracking through my body.
“Need some help?” the angel called from behind me.
“Fuck you!” I yelled back.
He laughed, but a few moments later, the second body dropped. Angel boy had tossed one of his own daggers, landing
perfectly in the center of its rotted chest.
Both vampyre bodies slumped to the ground.
I yanked Venom out of the corpse.
“I just saved your life,” the angel whispered, now much closer than he needed to be. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t need your help,” I argued, narrowing my eyes at his proximity.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
I turned my ears to the streets, listening for any more movement, any more signs of vampyres.
Silence.
The angel’s breath tickled the back of my neck, all of my senses heightened from the rush of the kill.
I turned around and met his gaze.
He stared down at me with a twinkle of amusement in his electric eyes, his black wings now narrowed to fit the thin
alleyway.
The vampyres, I could handle. The killing, I could handle. But the way he stared at me, the way his eyes flickered to my
wet, sliced-open shirt that exposed my chest wrap, to the cuts that now scattered my chest and my upper arms… That was
something new.
More footsteps caught my attention, but they weren’t from vampyres.
“Huntyr!” Lord yelled, searching the streets. “Huntyr, where are you?”
My eyes widened. The angel took a step back.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, little huntress,” he whispered.
And as soon as Lord arrived, the angel boy was gone, deep in the shadows, as if he was never really there at all.
Lord stood at the entrance of the alleyway a few moments later. His pristine appearance now radiated with hatred and
violence. His dark skin dripped in sprayed vampyre blood, the moonlight glistening off the wetness of it.
Every breath he took sent his massive chest rising and falling. “This way, Huntyr,” he ordered, beckoning me closer. “There
are a few more vampyres approaching Phantom.”
I snapped myself out of the fog and ran after Lord, ready to kill.
Ready to fight.
Ready to protect.
By the time Lord and I had covered the entire city of Midgrave, my feet ached in my boots. The blood on my skin had dried,
my palms bruised from gripping my weapon.
At least I had something to remember this place by.
Once the attack was over, once we were sure no vampyres survived, we burned the corpses, sending the ashes into the air. I
spent the few hours until morning washing the vampyre gore from my clothes, preparing for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, I would have much greater enemies than the vampyres.
 Chapter

Five

“W elcome to Moira Seminary. I hope you’re all prepared to die.”

Okay, not the best start to the academy.
I spent all day and night on a train with absolutely no clue where I was headed. I kept to myself, though it wasn’t
hard. I was one of the few people on the damn thing. Most fae would come from other places in Vaehatis, not Midgrave. They
would take trains from the north, from the kingdoms that actually produced elite-worthy fae.
Midgrave didn’t exactly have an overwhelming number of fae fighting to get into The Golden City. Most fae from back
home had lost hope a long, long time ago.
I only saw one other fae board my train—a younger male I had never seen before. He had red hair that reminded me of the
sunset, and he looked much too fragile to be involved in something like this.
Perhaps he was trying to escape the dull life that existed in Midgrave. Maybe he thought Moira Seminary was his way out.
Moira Seminary, however, lived up to its expectations. Stunning, ancient architecture with towering arcs of stone and
terrifying black gates grabbed my attention as soon as the train escaped the thick cover of the deep green forest. White and gray
walls ascended into dozens of massive peaks, creating an intimidating and religious experience as I walked through the front
doors with my bag slung over my shoulder.
I had never seen anything so beautiful. Every stone, every detail, was assembled with care. Nothing was left unattended to,
even the thick green vines that twisted and sprawled across the arching ceilings.
The place felt alive.
I wandered forward, following the dozen others who had traveled in on other trains from neighboring kingdoms and
appeared just as clueless as myself.
But all of that beauty and awe vanished when a woman walked through the massive arched doors at the end of the hall. Her
dark skin and piercing green eyes drew me toward her like a drug. She commanded power, demanded respect. There was no
doubt in my mind that she was the one in charge here.
“Hello, recruits. I take it your journeys here were comfortable enough?”
I glanced around the room. Nobody answered.
“Quiet.” She clasped her hands before her. “Good. The last loudmouth that came through these doors died the first day.”
The first day? She was just saying that to scare us, right?
“My name is Headmistress Katherine. You can call me that, or Headmistress, but not Katherine. You’ll address the rest of
the mentors here with respect, as they can end your time at this academy with zero reasoning at any time at all.”
Again, the room was silent.
Headmistress Katherine smirked. “Follow me.”
We obeyed, silently trailing after her. My back ached with the lingering pain of Lord’s whip, only amplified by last night’s
fighting and the long train ride.
I didn’t see the angel again, though I spent half of the night looking for him. Not for any reason, of course, other than the fact
that angels were incredibly rare.
And a fallen angel in Midgrave? It wasn’t normal.
I thought about telling Lord, but what was I going to say? That I let a fallen angel save my life? That I needed help out there
against the vampyres?
No, I didn’t need to give Lord any reason to pull me from this mission.
The Headmistress took us through a maze of dark, narrow hallways with towering ceilings and perfect stone floors, not
slowing down for a second. I lingered near the back of the group, trying to keep my head down.
Don’t draw attention to yourself, Lord had ordered. It will only make things harder.
I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and kept walking, ducking down the final hallway and into a larger room littered with
training equipment. I was familiar with some of it, such as the large bags used for practicing punches. But others looked damn
near lethal.
“This is where we’ll be spending every other day,” Headmistress Katherine announced, turning on her heel to face us. “The
rest of your time will be spent with your mentors, learning magic, fighting tactics, and the history of The Golden City.”
I swallowed.
“An inability to show up will result in your removal from the program. An inability to keep up will result in the same. If
you disobey any of the rules, you’re out.”
A murmur began in the group. I kept my lips sealed, ducking my chin.
“Is there a question?” the woman directed toward the group of whispers.
One student—a young male who appeared too soft and innocent—stuttered to answer. “We were just… what are the rules?”
Damn, this woman was terrifying. Even her eyes held a promise of death. I didn’t trust her one bit.
“We have two rules here at Moira Seminary. Rule number one: Don’t kill your fellow recruits outside the classroom.
You’ll have plenty of time for that in training. Rule number two: Stay alive. This program is not for the weak, and we will not
show you mercy. You fight. You live. You make it to The Golden City. It’s that simple. Do you understand?”
Everyone nodded.
“Good,” she announced, clapping her hands together. “There will be a test, the Transcendent, at the end of your time here. A
series of tests, rather, however you wish to look at it. It will be nearly impossible to pass, and most of you will not make it.”
I clenched my fists. I wasn’t about to cower in the face of death. I had prepared for this. Lord had ensured I would be
ready.
There was no test I could not pass. No trial I could not overcome.
“You’re all here for a reason,” she continued. “Remember what that reason is. Every year, students gather here for the
chance to make it into the elite society. Every year, lives are lost. You all know the risks, yet you chose to come here anyway.
There was a time when hundreds of students would line the halls of this academy, all fighting for a chance to get into The
Golden City.” She surveyed the small group of us. “Just because the numbers have dwindled does not mean your entrance will
be taken any less severely.
“You’ve been randomly assigned roommates, and your names are listed on the doors through that corridor.” She pointed to
her left. “I feel the need to repeat this, but if you kill your roommate in their sleep, you’re out.”
You could have heard a damn angel feather dropping in the room.
“Get some sleep,” Headmistress Katherine ordered. “The Blessing is this evening, and you’ll all be required to attend. But
listen to me when I say this: The tests to enter The Golden City began once you walked through those doors. I’ll see you all this
evening.”
Okay, so I’m probably going to die.
That was fine. I’d made peace with death a long time ago. It was how I became so fearless, so lethal. No sane female
would launch themselves at the back of a vampyre simply to get the approval from their assassin Lord.
Maybe there were a few things wrong with that statement, but nevertheless, I was probably going to die here regardless.
I followed the crowd, keeping my face down as we all funneled through the dark stone hallway, where everyone would be
sleeping. It reminded me of corralling sheep. Dangerous sheep, but sheep all the same.
We might have been the strong, capable fae in our respective homes, but here? We were nothing but prey. They wanted to
test us. They wanted to see us break.
By the time I reached the end of the hallway, I thought they had forgotten my name. Until I spotted the very last door.

HUNTYR GWENEVIVE
WOLF JASPER

My brows furrowed. What type of name was Wolf?

I reached for the door handle when the shadow of a colossal figure cascaded over me. I froze, watching a tanned, massive
arm reach over me, gripping the knob I had just been reaching for.
Something about that presence felt so familiar…
“I hope you’re good with the bottom bunk,” the grumbling voice whispered in my ear. “I like the top.”
I spun around to find the fallen angel from Midgrave looming over me, staring down into my face.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
“I’m here to get into The Golden City, same as you, I presume. Surprised to see me?” He smirked.
This was not happening.
“Yes! Are you following me?”
He cocked his head to the side. “What makes you think that?”
“The fact that you were in Midgrave and now you’re here, trying to enter my bedroom!”
“Of course I’m here. We’re roommates.” He pointed to our names on the door, as if the fact were obvious. “And it’s our
bedroom.”
“No, we aren’t,” I argued.
He continued reaching forward, his chest almost brushing against me as he twisted the knob and pushed it open, all while
maintaining an infuriating level of eye contact.
“The names on this door tell me otherwise,” he replied. “Now,”—he waved his hand toward the room—“after you,
roomie.”
This could not possibly get any worse.
The weight of the dagger strapped tightly on my thigh was only reassuring until I remembered Wolf was an angel, and I
knew nothing of killing his kind. A fact he’d so respectfully reminded me of himself.
I backed into the room, squinting my eyes at Wolf—who was absolutely not my roommate—before turning around.
The room was bare, as I expected. Two beds—not bunks, thank the goddess—flanked each side. A small window with
black bars let in a few rays of the setting sun. The rest of the room was depressingly bare.
Even my dirt pile of a bedroom back home had more personality than this.
“Cozy,” Wolf murmured from behind me before brushing past and throwing his bag onto the left bed. “I guess there’s no
need for pleasantries when half of us will be dead at the end of this anyway.”
I tossed my bag onto the other bed. “That’s morbid.”
“And if what I saw in Midgrave taught me anything, you’ll be one of them.”
We stared at each other for a minute, neither one backing down. Wolf’s expanded angel wings took up nearly the entire
room. His arms fell lazily by his sides, and he looked at me as if he were utterly familiar with my every move.
I glared back, arms crossed over my chest. “Get out.”
He smiled. “Don’t be rude.”
“Trust me, angel, when you see me being rude, you’ll know.”
He sauntered forward, closing the small amount of space that existed between us. “I think I saw plenty of it last night while
you were impaling vampyres in the chest.”
My blood froze. “How long were you watching me?” I gaped.
He shrugged casually. “You intrigued me. And I was bored.”
I swallowed and slowly reached for my dagger, finding comfort in the warm, rough handle that fit perfectly in my palm.
“I’ll tell you one last time before I lose my damn patience. This is my room, and you’re not staying here. Get. Out.”
My heart pounded in anticipation, waiting for his response. He somehow irritated and terrified me all at once, causing my
body to react in ways I had never felt before.
Wolf ignored me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just so you know, I prefer to sleep naked.”
That’s it.
In one swift motion, I pulled Venom from her sheath at my thigh and aimed her toward Wolf’s chest with a cry of frustration.
Nobody was going to get in my way of completing this mission. Not Wolf, not anyone.
But just as quickly, Wolf’s unbelievably powerful hand stopped me. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, just a few
inches from his chest, and squeezed to the point of pain.
He twisted his grip, sending my dagger scattering across the floor and my body falling against his. Hard.
I gasped as he pinned my body flush against his. The amusement that lingered on his face before was long gone, now
replaced by a flash of both shock and anger.
“Don’t ever,” he snarled, his lips curling to reveal those perfect predator teeth, not as sharp as a vampyre’s but certainly
sharper than the fae, “do that again. I don’t think Headmistress will appreciate you breaking her number one rule.”
He held me there a second longer, and my body heated at our proximity. I had been this close to males many times during
training, but this was different. It was intimate and brutal and so, so wrong.
“Get away from me,” I whispered before shoving at his chest, forcing him to release me.
“Trust me, Huntress. I have my own motivations for surviving Moira. I have no plans to crawl into your bed late at night, as
much as you may dream of it.”
I nearly choked. “Then do us both a favor and mind your own business.”
He smiled, but this one beheld no niceties. “Gladly. See you tonight at The Blessing, roommate.” His jaw tightened as he
sauntered out of the room, going goddess knows where. But with him out of the space, I could finally breathe. This was an
unexpected challenge, but it was nothing that would interfere with my orders.
Survive Moira. Make it to The Golden City.
Rooming with the only damn angel in this academy would not help me keep my head down. But maybe nobody noticed,
maybe nobody saw us walking to the end of the hall.
I waited a few seconds, ensuring Wolf was gone, before cracking the door back open and peering down the hallway.
Only to be met with dozens of eyes doing the same, staring right back at me in awe as if they had just watched Wolf exit
from this same room.
 Great, just great.
I shut the door and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to settle my racing heart. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the person who got
flustered by arrogant pricks. I was focused, determined.
This was a minuscule, non-existent bump in my plan. A blip on my roadmap to success. It would not change anything, and it
sure as all hells would not affect my mission.
I walked over to my bed and opened my bag, pulling out the two extra sets of clothing I brought with me. They were simple,
easy. They wouldn’t get in my way. A small leather tie that Rummy gave me lay in the bottom of the bag. She was always
insisting I tied my black curls away from my eyes, something I wholeheartedly agreed with.
I picked the tie up and pulled my messy, unmanaged locks away from my face. The cool air instantly hit my neck, soothing
the heated skin there.
From the stress of the new environment, I reminded myself. Not from the damn angel.
A knock on my door made me jump. I pressed against it instantly, a hand hovering over Venom.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
A light, annoyingly cheerful voice responded, “It’s Ashlani! Open up!”
Deciding anyone who sounded that chipper would likely not attempt to kill me, I opened the door.
Ashlani stood expectantly with a hand on her hip. Her doe eyes batted at me as she quickly looked me up and down,
pausing only for a second at my hand still hovering over my weapon.
“Hey there,” she started. “I was coming to see if you wanted to head to Blessing with us tonight.”
“Um, why?” I asked.
She shrugged. For a place that trained people on how to be deadly and fierce, she seemed much too nice. “We’re going to
be living together, so we might as well be friends.”
“I don’t think making friends is such a good idea.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “We’ll have plenty of time to kill each other later. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ll find you there!”
Ashlani didn’t give me time to respond. She turned on her heel, flipping her light hair over her shoulder, and bounced back
through the hallway.
At least one person here wouldn’t actively try to kill me. Yet. But I had to keep my guard up. Someone like Ashlani was
hard to read. On the surface, she was kind. Bubbly, even. But nobody was truly happy on the inside.
Too much darkness lingered in this world.
People like Ashlani were only denying their true paths, covering up the shadows with layers of fake light.
I would trust a blatant asshole before I trusted someone like her.
With Ashlani gone and the rest of the hallway empty, I retreated into my room. The Blessing would be tonight, and I needed
to prepare.
Like Lord always said, plan to fight and plan to survive. Trust nobody. Death would wait around every corner.
 Chapter

Six

I
spent the rest of the day playing many different scenarios in my mind as to what would happen at The Blessing. I envisioned
a blood-covered trap, wild animals chasing us through the academy, a fight-to-the-death competition at the dinner table.
Anything but this.
I followed the voices through the academy until the narrow stone paths opened up to a massive square courtyard. The white
and gray flanks of the castle walls still towered above me as my feet moved from the rough stone to the soft grass below.
I wasn’t used to grass. Dirt, maybe, but no grass. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.
“You’re from Midgrave, right?” The younger male with sunset-red hair pulled my attention away from the courtyard. “I saw
you on the train.”
I nodded, keeping my features still. “I am.”
The male eyed me. He was maybe eighteen, barely old enough to qualify for The Golden City. “I thought I recognized you.
You and Rummy would come to the bakery every once in a while.”
The mention of Rummy instantly made me feel more relaxed. If he knew her, I had a chance of liking him. A slim chance,
but a chance nonetheless. “You worked at the bakery?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. My father owned the place. I only helped here and there.”
I recalled the way the bakery always made even the darkest days of Midgrave seem less cold. The man who worked there
—this male’s father—always wore a smile on his face. I wondered time and time again what someone like that would have to
smile about in such a shitty world, but I also envied it.
“And you know Rummy?”
He blushed and looked away. “Not really. I tried speaking to her once or twice, but she can be…”
“Scary as all hells?” I finished.
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Scary as all hells.”
I let my tense shoulders fall, the corners of my mouth twitching upward. “What’s your name?”
“Nathaniel.” His face instantly lit up. He held his hand out for me to shake.
I shook it lightly. “Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nathaniel. It seems we’re the only two people from Midgrave that
made it here this year.”
“If I stick by your side, I just might make it through,” he said with a wink. I watched as Nathaniel turned and walked to the
other side of the courtyard, where he attempted to mingle with even more of the new students.
He was brave. That, or a total idiot. I watched him until his bright red hair got lost in the sea of people, fading away into
the crowd.
I was beginning to like Nathaniel.
“There you are!” Ashlani cheered as she walked over to me, looping her arm through mine.
She isn’t a threat right now, I reminded myself. Be friendly. Blend in.
I forced a smile. “Yep, this is mandatory, you know.”
She began pulling me further into the courtyard. Most of the other students had already gathered, along with a dozen others
who I assumed to be the teachers here. One quick scan, however, told me Wolf had yet to arrive.
He wasn’t in our room all day, either.
Ashlani ignored my comment and guided me over to a male leaning against the stone wall. His features were warm and
welcoming, practically glowing beneath the lantern light of night. His face lit up when he saw Ashlani approaching.
“This is Lanson,” Ashlani announced, pulling me to a stop before him. “Lanson, meet…”
“Huntyr,” I finished for her, shifting uncomfortably on my feet.
“Huntyr,” Lanson repeated. He extended a large hand in my direction. He had soft, golden hair that curled around his face
and sharp cheekbones that accentuated his smile. He looked like the type of guy you wanted to trust, even though his sculpted
muscles flexed against his black training shirt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I slid my hand into his and he shook it quickly. He kept his hand clasped in mine for an extra second, causing my heart to
sink. But his eyes held nothing but kindness. Odd.
“Likewise,” I said as I pulled my hand away.
“You must be skilled at hunting, then, with a name like that,” he remarked.
I shrugged. Don’t let them know anything, certainly not your strengths or weaknesses. He may have appeared soft, but
just like Ashlani, that was never the case.
Never.
“I can hunt when needed,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Noted,” he replied with a smile. “Maybe we’ll be seeing more of each other around here, then.”
“I think, given the circumstances, that’s highly likely.”
I stared into his green eyes, looking for a shadow. A demon. A secret. Anything. But all I saw was a friendly fae looking
back at me.
A small, hopeful part of my mind thought that maybe this was it. Maybe Lanson was simply a welcoming fae. Maybe not
everyone hid their darkness deep in their souls, waiting for the time to burst from keeping too many shadows at bay.
But those thoughts quickly dissipated.
“Look!” Ashlani interrupted. “It’s starting!”
I followed her gesture to the middle of the courtyard, where Headmistress Katherine stood near a male who prepared to
speak. But my attention was stolen by an abnormally large, black-winged creature leaning against the stone wall with his arms
crossed over his chest.
Glaring at me.
Wolf’s dark eyes could have sliced through skin. His jaw was set, his shoulders sharp. He looked pissed.
I fought the urge to look over my shoulder. Was he pissed at me? What in the hells could I have possibly done to piss him
off? I was the one that should be pissed. Not him.
The male preparing to speak looked like a fighter. He was aged, with long white and grey hair pulled away from his tanned,
rugged face. He wore all black training gear, much different than Headmistress Katherine’s formal gown. He clasped his hands
together as he spoke. “Welcome to Moira Seminary. Your first day begins tomorrow, but not all of you will make it through
tonight.”
A few gasps filled the air. I caught myself double checking the weight of Venom at my thigh, snug and secure against my
black training pants.
Wolf still leaned against the wall, relaxed as ever, but his attention now lingered on the male speaking.
“Drink,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just dropped something massive and mysterious on us. “Relax and enjoy your
evenings. But let this be a warning to you that you must always keep your guard up. I’ll be your combat trainer starting
tomorrow. If you don’t see me again tonight, which I truly hope you do not, I’ll be seeing you at sunrise.”
And with that, he was gone.
Okay… That was weird…
I looked around the courtyard again, making sure no obvious threat lingered in the shadows.
Nothing.
Besides Wolf, who had re-focused his attention on me once more.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Lanson and Ashlani before taking off in his direction. His brows furrowed even more as I
approached, weaving through the now-mingling crowd of students and teachers before stopping in front of him with a hand on
my hip.
“Do you have a problem with me?” I demanded.
Amusement flashed over his features. “Many problems, actually. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve been glaring at me ever since I got here.”
His jaw tightened. “How do you know I’m not glaring at those friends of yours?”
“They’re not my friends,” I argued, hating that I suddenly felt defensive enough to say anything.
“They sure seem like it, Huntress. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“They’re not threats.”
He tsked, “You just met them.”
“Well, I just met you too, and so far, you’ve been more of a threat to me than anyone else here.”
His expression changed—torturously slow—from his grumpy scowl into an arrogant smirk. “You forget I saved your life
from those vampyres not too long ago. Is that what makes me a threat?”
“You absolutely did not save my life,” I spat.
Hells, Huntyr. Are you really letting him get to you? He was trying to rile me up. It was so fucking obvious.
I took a long breath, attempting to calm my rising temper. “You are a threat because you’re a fucking angel, clearly the only
angel here, and probably the only angel most of these students have ever seen. I’m trying to keep my head down, and you’re
drawing way too much attention to me.”
 “Is that so?” he retorted, tilting his head. “Because I believe you were the one who walked over here to me.”
“Only because you were staring at me!”
He smirked. “Allegedly.”
A groan of frustration escaped me before I ran my hands down my face and started backing away. “Just stay away from me,
okay?”
“Sure thing, roommate.”
I spun on my heel and marched back through the crowd, acutely aware of the eyes that now lingered on me.
Wolf was right. I was the one who had marched over to him. It was a mistake I wouldn’t be making again. My emotions
could not impede getting through this academy. Through this mission.
Ashlani and Lanson talked in hushed voices as I re-joined them.
“Oh good,” Ashlani chimed. “You’re back.”
“Sorry about that. I had to have a word with my… with him.” Not my roommate.
“Do you two know each other?” Lanson asked, scrutinizing my face. “I didn’t know angels still came here.”
“No, no. We only just met, but I’m the unlucky one who was paired in his room, I suppose.”
“Wow,” Ashlani whispered, taking on a look of pity. “That is very unlucky. If it helps you at all, you’re always welcome in
my room! My roommate is that girl over there.”
I followed her gaze to a short yet strongly built female fae standing by herself near the mentors. She had a drink in her hand
and busied herself with pacing in small, lazy circles while she observed the details of the courtyard.
She seemed smart. Calculated.
“That’s very kind of you,” I admitted, forcing a smile. The truth was, sleeping with an enemy who outwardly disliked me
was a safer bet than sleeping with two I wasn’t sure I could trust. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I took a second to observe the rest of the recruits. Lanson, Wolf, Ashlani, and I made up four. Nathaniel from home made
five. I tried to scan the faces and put them in my memory.
A group of fae—strong ones, it seemed—stood whispering a few feet away. They were tall, nearly as tall as Wolf. They
stood with their shoulders back and their chins up. Arrogant, I could already tell. They had likely been training for this school
for some time.
So had I. I just hadn’t known it.
“Do you know anything about them?” I asked Ashlani and Lanson, who quickly glanced in their direction. They shared a
tentative look before returning their gaze to me. “What?”
“They’re bad news,” Ashlani whispered. “Do yourself a favor and stay away.”
“Why? Are they dangerous?”
“Lethal,” Lanson answered. “They grew up near me. We used to be friends, actually, when we were children. But they’ll do
anything to get into The Golden City. They’ll cut you down in an instant if they think you’re a threat.”
I stole one more glance. Two of them were nearly identical; they both wore sleek black clothing with shaved hair. Their fae
shoulders were sculpted and massive, and if what Lanson said was correct, they likely spent a lot of time killing.
Practicing.
“Well, that’s terrifying,” I said. It was a lie, of course. I couldn’t wait to challenge them. They would underestimate me
without question.
Everyone always did.
“Alright,” Ashlani sighed. “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”
“No, thanks,” Lanson and I replied in unison.
With a shrug, she was off.
“What about you?” Lanson asked. “Have you been training for this?”
I slipped my hands into my pockets. “Not exactly. It was a bit of a last-minute decision. Frankly, I never imagined trying to
get into The Golden City. It seemed too good to be true.”
“I know the feeling,” Lanson said. He mimicked my body language and slid his own hands into his pockets, which I noticed
immediately. “It’s a dream. We aren’t actually supposed to get into The Golden City, right?”
“That’s what I was raised to believe.”
“In Midgrave?” he asked. My eyes snapped to him in surprise. He pulled his hands from his pockets in a defensive shrug.
“It was a guess,” he said. “You seem like the type with some survival instincts.”
“I should probably be insulted that you guessed correctly.” Okay, Lanson. You’ve been paying attention. I’ll give you that.
“Where are you from?” I replied, flipping the conversation. “I can tell by your clothing that it’s not Midgrave.”
He laughed, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. “You’re right. I’m from a larger town up north. Ashlani and I came here
together, actually.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you two were…”
“We’re not,” he corrected. “No, we’re just friends. We weren’t that close before, but from what I have seen, she’s one of
the good ones.”
I turned my attention to the rest of the courtyard again. “That’s good to know,” I breathed. “So far, it’s hard to tell.”
Lanson may have been convinced, but I still wasn’t sure. Between the cocky fae, Ashlani’s roommate, Lanson, and Wolf, I
had no idea who to trust. Lanson seemed to like me, which was a good sign.
A scream cut through the chilling air, followed by a roar of what sounded like water pouring.
“What in the hells is that?”
 Chapter

Seven

W
ater cascaded from the four corners of the courtyard, flowing from nowhere specific and rushing toward us in
powerful waves.
My first instinct was to panic. It took me all but two seconds to swallow that fear and think.
Think, Huntyr. Think.
This must be The Blessing, the test to weed out the first round of recruits.
And I couldn’t fucking swim.
The tutors had all left, leaving just the apprentices behind to panic in the courtyard. Some twisted, evil magic must be
forcing the castle to bleed water.
A few screams rang through the air as soon as the water hit our feet.
And it quickly climbed our legs.
“Don’t panic!” Lanson yelled. “They want us to fight.”
“I can’t swim,” I admitted. “I don’t know how.”
“You won’t have to,” he pushed, grabbing hold of my wrist. I didn’t shove him away. “They’re trying to scare us, that’s
all.”
“It’s working!” Ashlani screeched as she sprinted over to us.
The water rose, cascading in waves around the courtyard, pushing us all toward the center.
“Hold on to me,” Lanson said. “I won’t let go of you.”
I wasn’t sure why a complete stranger would help me, nor why I would let him, but all I could focus on was the freezing
water lapping at my knees, my thighs, my hips.
By the time the water hit my chest, fear had taken over.
“Are they trying to drown us all?” I seethed, my pulse skyrocketing in my ears.
A few of the fae began to swim against the spiral current, as if that would help anything. As if that would stop the water that
continued to pour.
Only a few seconds went by before we were forced off our feet, too.
I kicked as hard as I could, trying with everything in me to keep my head above the water. But even with Lanson pulling me
upward, I couldn’t avoid the bodies that shoved into me, all of us helpless against the strength of the current.
We circled, fighting against the water with sheer panic and instinct.
I inhaled a mouthful of water and immediately coughed it up, cursing at myself for losing the vital air.
Hells, I needed air.
My legs burned from kicking, my chest tightened with panic.
This was it. Not even day one of this fucking place and I was going to die, was going to drown like the weakest of the
weak.
“Kick!” Lanson screamed, though the water now roared around us, making it hard to hear. Ashlani bobbed her head in front
of us.
I kicked. I kicked as hard as I fucking could.
Someone screamed.
It has to end soon; they can’t keep doing this forever.
Water roared, and a massive wave came from nowhere, crashing into us.
I lost my grip on Lanson.
And the water pulled me under.
No amount of kicking would send me upward. No amount of fight, of will, would propel me toward the surface.
I held my breath as long as I could—which wasn’t long, due to my racing heart and exhausted limbs.
I had cheated death many, many times in my life. Fought hundreds of vampyres. Killed males twice my size.
 But to leave this world by way of water?
No fucking thank you.
I kicked and kicked and kicked, moving against the dark water blindly, desperately.
Then something was grabbing me around the waist, hoisting me upward with strong, rough hands.
Not Lanson.
I was so close to inhaling water, to giving into my screaming lungs, when we broke the surface.
I gagged and coughed and spit up water, pulling fresh air into my lungs like I was breathing for the first time.
Then I realized who held me.
“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Wolf growled into my ear, barely audible over the continued roar of the water.
The current moved in a tornado of chaos, sucking everyone toward the center.
Pulling everyone down.
In just a few seconds, we would be down, too.
I turned to face Wolf and wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on with everything I had. He was my fucking lifeline,
as pathetic as that sounded.
His wings propelled us out of the spiral, dodging the bodies around us and pulling us to the outer edge of the courtyard. We
were halfway up the castle walls now, water eating everything and everyone below.
Wolf reached the edge near the stone walls of the castle and hoisted himself—with me attached—out of the water and onto
a window ledge.
He pulled me against his chest while I straddled him, holding on just as tightly as before. The water would not stop; it
would not calm.
We were fucking dead.
But a few seconds later, while I clung to Wolf like a helpless, lost animal, the water began to abate its storm on those
below.
A few cries of relief filled the courtyard, mixing with my rugged, panting breath as I peeled myself off Wolf.
Water ran down his face, dripping from his hair and his wings, rolling off his lips. “That’s twice now,” he panted.
I stared at him. “What?”
“That’s twice that I’ve saved your life. I’ll be keeping count, by the way.”
If I wasn’t paralyzed with terror of the death I had narrowly avoided, I would have had a comeback. Would have found a
sassy remark to hide the brutal truth that he had just saved my life.
Instead, I let my head fall back against the stone wall.
“Huntyr!” Ashlani yelled, swimming over to us. Lanson followed.
“This way!” I said, moving as far as I could manage from Wolf in the confines of the ledge. “There’s a window. I’ll pull
you through!”
Wolf didn’t take his eyes off me as I kicked the window beyond the ledge, shattering the glass and slipping myself through,
sprawling on the floor for just a second before pulling myself together.
It was only a test.
I was alive.
I was breathing.
A few seconds later, Lanson and Ashlani pulled themselves up and collapsed on the floor next to me.
All of us heaved for air in unison.
The sound of the once thundering water grew quieter and quieter, leaving only our breaths to fill the sound of the empty
hallway we had fallen into. Besides Wolf, of course. He had hardly lifted a finger. Clearly, saving my life had been no
laborious task for him and his fallen angel strength.
“The Blessing is now over,” Headmistress Katherine announced from somewhere beyond the courtyard. Her voice seemed
to echo off all four walls. “Those of you who have been deemed strong enough for the trials of Moira Seminary, welcome. You
have a long road ahead of you, and this is only the beginning.”
I pushed myself up and peered out the window, which now seemed much, much higher without the water lapping below.
The first thing I saw was Nathaniel’s sunset red hair. He wasn’t moving, and his limbs were contorted awkwardly beneath
him.
My chest tightened before I reminded myself to breathe. He was from Midgrave, but he was not a friend of mine. Just
because we came from the same home didn’t mean I had to protect him.
Fuck.
I saw four other bodies lying motionless on the grass and countless others vomiting water and gasping for air.
One test down.
Countless more to go.
 Chapter

Eight

“G et out.” I barked the order before Wolf made it two steps through the door.
He paused and smirked. “Really, Huntress? That’s how you talk to someone who saved your life for the second
time?”
“Don’t call me that, and don’t even try to act as if you actually get to sleep in here.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” he taunted. “You get the cozy bed while I’m exiled to somewhere else in Moira? How does that figure?
I didn’t ask to be assigned to this room any more than you did.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and refused to look away. He wasn’t going to charm his way out of this, wasn’t going to
talk me down. “I don’t know you very well, but you don’t seem like a complete degenerate. You’re an angel. It’s much safer for
you out there than it is for me. We both know that.”
He took a step closer. “Why is that?” The smirk on his face was now a full-blown smile.
“You’re–You’re…”
“Stronger than everyone else here? More powerful?” He took yet another step. “Taller? Faster?”
His closeness became palpable. He craned his neck to look down at me with his bright blue orbs, casting a shadow across
his already dark features.
A delightful storm of madness.
“I—”
“What?” he pushed. “Tell me why you want me out of here, Huntress.”
I huffed. “You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin even further so my face lingered only inches from his. “You’re dangerous. You’re
unpredictable. You’re arrogant as all hells, and yes, you are stronger than everyone else here.”
He stared at me, eyes flickering back and forth between mine like he was looking for something; a secret, a truth.
“I didn’t expect a lethal vampyre assassin to be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” I replied, the rush of words betraying me. Stay calm, Huntyr. Stay steady.
“Really?” he asked. His eyes flickered down to my chest, lingering on the spot just above my breasts. “Because your heart
is racing.”
Anger fired to life within me. Nobody made me lose focus like this. Nobody distracted me as much as he did, and nobody
ever, ever made me nervous.
“Get out,” I managed to whisper.
Wolf’s eyes met mine again, and I could tell from the mischief lingering there that he wasn’t going anywhere. “If I’m as
dangerous as you say I am,” he started, “then you’ll be safer with me in here.”
I laughed in his face, my nerves bubbling in my stomach in a way that made me want to vomit. “You’re joking, right?”
“I hate to break it to you, but if I wanted to kill you, I would have done so in Midgrave.”
“I’m still not convinced you won’t.”
Before I could blink, his hand found my throat, squeezing gently but still applying enough pressure to get my attention. His
body pressed against mine, pushing me against my bedpost. His leg slid between my knees, pinning me in place. “I could kill
you right now, Huntress. But I could just as easily kill anyone in this damn academy if I wanted to.”
I held his wrist with both hands but didn’t fight him. Something sharp in his gaze made me freeze. “You don’t scare me,” I
breathed.
His hand adjusted on my throat, moving from restraining me to feeling my pulse. His hands were rough and hot on my
exposed skin. “Good,” he whispered back. “Then I guess this racing heart means you feel something else for me.”
This time, I shoved him away. Hard. He finally let me go, sauntering back to his side of the small, stone room.
“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow,” he said, sliding his shirt up and over his head. I looked away at the last second.
“Get some sleep. If it makes you feel any better, I promise I won’t murder you in the night.”
 I stood there for a moment, not sure I could trust myself to walk without my legs giving out.
What the fuck just happened? Wolf intimidated me, put his hands on me.
Saw right through me.
When I was certain I wouldn’t collapse, I hoisted myself into my bed. I didn’t bother changing clothes, and I barely
managed to slip my shoes off before burying myself beneath the thick covers. I turned my body to face the wall, away from
Wolf. I couldn’t think about him. Couldn’t think about his breathing, his wings filling the room.
I had to think about myself. A few deep breaths later, my heart was finally slowing down. Damn you for betraying me, I
thought to myself as I slipped my hand over my chest. I had mastered the skill of keeping a steady heartrate, even in the face of
death.
But in the face of this fallen angel?
I guess I still needed to work on that.
I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the dull pain in my back. Lord’s lashings served as a reminder, though. I had a
job to do. I had a mission.
Wolf could not distract me.
I kept my body facing the wall the entire night, kept the blankets pulled tightly under my chin. I didn’t want to fall asleep
with Wolf just a few feet away, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
He wasn’t going to kill me. Not in my sleep, anyway.
Not tonight.

“Y esterday, you were all simply students. Fresh recruits. New to this academy. Yesterday, you each held an identity; one
that was created long ago, when you were growing up wherever you came from. Some of you are from poor cities with
crumbling walls. Others grew up with wealthy families in castles with servants. Today, that changes.”
I stiffened in my seat in the back corner of the room, one that allowed me plenty of space to see everyone else.
And gave them no space to see me.
Still, the energy with which Headmistress Katherine spoke sent a chill through the crowd.
“You no longer belong to yourself,” she continued. “You belong to The Golden City. You’ll identify as a defender of the
city, as a part of the community. From today onward, you will lay your life down to protect The Golden City. Is that
understood?”
The group remained silent.
“Is that understood?” she repeated.
“Yes, Headmistress,” we answered in unison.
Everyone shifted, seemed to sit straighter. Everyone except Wolf, anyway, who sat casually splayed across his chair. With
his wings relaxed on each side of him, he took up three seats instead of one.
Figures.
He was gone when I woke up this morning, which made me feel both comfortable and on edge. It was nice that I could
avoid interacting with him today, but the fact that he was awake while I slept?
I reminded myself to slow down my heart.
“Today, you’ll be stripping yourselves of those identities the hard way. You’ll suffer. You’ll hurt. Pain will cleanse you,
will wash away the versions of yourselves that may have existed before you walked through the doors of Moira.”
Headmistress Katherine’s gaze shifted to the fae in the front of the room, the ones who looked as if they were ready to run the
place themselves.
I stifled a smile. I’d very much like to see them wash themselves in pain.
“Commander Macanthos will assist with your combat needs. We’ll be training in the courtyard every other day at the
minimum. You’ll be in charge of your own recoveries on your off days. And don’t think that the magic training will be any
easier on you. Magic will take a deep toll on you, one that you won’t see coming. So prepare yourselves.”
Hells.
Commander Macanthos—the male who spoke at The Blessing last night—stepped forward. He was older, with wrinkles
around his eyes and gray hair slicked into a knot behind his head. But even so, he looked as if he could kill any one of us
without batting an eye. His shoulders were still large and lean, and he stood with his chest puffed out.
“Now that we’re all settled, we’ll head to the courtyard. Find a partner. We’ll be sparring until midday,” he commanded.
Headmistress clapped her hands, and we all stood, quickly filing out of the room and down the towering halls to the
courtyard.
“Hey,” Ashlani whispered, falling into step beside me. “Be Lanson’s partner. He’ll go easy on you, I promise.” She winked
at me before moving to catch up with her own roommate, Voiler.
Voiler seemed just as shocked when Ashlani approached her, as if she wasn’t expecting anyone to actually want to be her
partner. They were similar in size, which would be an advantage for both of them.
Great. I really did not want to partner with Lanson, but I supposed it was better than my other options. I couldn’t stop
myself from glancing at Wolf, who sauntered alone toward the front of the group. Surely, a fae would not have to partner with
an angel. Everyone knew that would be no match at all.
“Not that I’ll need to,” Lanson said, chiming in on my other side after Ashlani left. “I think you’ll be able to handle yourself
just fine.” He grinned.
“Yeah,” I laughed, feigning nonchalance. “Let’s hope so.”
The sun just peeked above the castle walls, warming the cold air around us. Morning frost covered the short grass of the
yard, creating a glistening effect that reminded me of mornings in the forest.
“Spread out.” Commander Macanthos’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “Get comfortable. Let’s see what we’re working
with.”
Lanson followed me to the far side of the courtyard. I tried to find a spot where we would draw the least amount of
attention, but it was difficult. We were exposed out here.
“Ready?” Lanson asked, assuming his stance. His feet spread shoulder width apart and his fists loosely protected his face.
He had done this before.
I mimicked his position. “Ready,” I answered.
He took a half-step forward, a small, friendly smile still lingering on his features. It would take me two seconds to end this
fight with him, but he didn’t know that.
Nobody here knew that, and it had to remain that way.
Lord explained the plan clearly to me before I left. I had to survive, but I could not show too much skill in combat. Too
much would draw attention, would raise questions. Questions would lead to Phantom, would lead to Lord.
No, I had to be good enough to survive, but weak enough to blend in.
Lanson would not hit me first, I could already tell. A male like him would wait for me, would give me the illusion of
power.
Fine by me.
I moved slowly enough for him to block me, aiming a punch toward his gut. He defended my fist easily.
“Not bad,” he cooed. “Go again.”
Males. Always too cocky for their own good. It was always their greatest flaw: thinking I was weaker than them.
So I tried again, letting him catch my wrist this time and pull me forward, causing me to stumble into his chest.
I met his eyes, reminding myself to hide my anger. “I’m a little rusty, I guess,” I mumbled.
He stole a glance at my mouth. “Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “We have all day to get you warmed up.”
And he wasn’t wrong. For the rest of the morning, I pretended like I couldn’t land a punch. I restrained myself from tackling
him to the ground, from pulling Venom on his throat each time I pretended as if he had really overpowered me.
After a while, though, I got used to it. We fell into a familiar rhythm, one that made me feel as if we were dancing together
under the morning sun. Hells, I even found myself smiling and laughing for a bit.
I didn’t even think about Wolf all morning, not until midday, at least.
Lanson had just tackled me to the ground, where he braced himself above me. I easily could have wrapped my legs around
his waist and flipped us over, but I let him believe in his victory.
“You’re getting better already,” he whispered, his breath tickling my sweaty skin.
“Really?” I asked. “Is that why you’re on top of me right now?”
He smiled but didn’t budge. “I’m glad we’re partners. This is going to be fun.”
The intensity of his light green eyes made me shiver beneath him. He wasn’t trying to hide his admiration in the slightest.
“Time for matches!” Commander Macanthos shouted, breaking the tension between Lanson and I. If that’s what you would
even call it. “Everyone, circle around. We’ll be assigning random fighting matches every afternoon after we train together.
There is no better teacher of combat than combat itself. You’ll fight until one of you gives up.”
Gives up? Hells. I half-expected the massive, terrifying commander to say fight until death.
Lanson climbed off me and hoisted me up after him. I glanced away from his soft gaze and walked to the center of the
courtyard.
It’s not that Lanson wasn’t attractive. He was—anyone could see that. But I wasn’t the least bit interested in someone like
him, especially here. Sure, he could be an ally. But it would never be anything more than that.
He would only be a distraction.
And distractions would get me killed.
 “Alright,” the mentor announced, looking around the semicircle. “You.” He pointed to one of the two large, arrogant fae that
I already hated. “And…”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
No, absolutely not. This was not happeni—“And you.”
He pointed directly at me. I felt frozen in time, unable to move.
But Commander Macanthos did not seem like a male to challenge.
“Hey,” Lanson whispered behind me, placing a hand on my lower back. “You got this, okay?”
Got this? Hells, I wanted nothing more than to smash this arrogant prick’s teeth in the second this match started, but that
wouldn’t be an option.
Not on day one. Not with everyone watching.
Blend in. Don’t win the damn fight.
I turned and gave Lanson a half-smile before stepping into the circle.
“Ryder and Huntyr, let’s see what you’ve got. Fight like your life depends on it,” the commander called out.
My opponent, Ryder, stepped forward, rubbing his hands in front of him. He looked me up and down, sizing me up like a
toy to be played with. He had taken his shirt off, his glistening, toned body beaming in the sun.
He was strong and had clearly been training for this.
I planted my feet into the ground and lifted my fists. Come on, you big brute. Hit me.
The snarl on his face said it all; he was coming at me with everything he had.
A few seconds later, he did.
He towered over me in size, taking two long strides to close the gap between us and swing toward my face.
I ducked and rolled to the opposite side of the clearing before jumping back to my feet. My instincts screamed at me to do
something, to fight back. To tackle him below the waist and throw him off balance.
Fucking hells.
“The Golden City needs fighters,” Ryder snarled. “Not little rats like you.” He finished his words with another swing,
attempting to grab my shoulders. “Did you really think you would survive long enough to become one of the elite?”
I spun away from his grasp, giving his fingers barely enough time to graze my shirt before I escaped him.
He smiled and cocked his head to the side. “Can’t run forever, rat.”
My heart pumped adrenaline through my veins, only fueling the instincts that I tried so fucking hard to fight. Everyone
watched us. Everyone waited for him to end me, to end this fight.
I wasn’t supposed to win.
“End this, then,” I said. “If you’re so worthy, hit me already.”
Ryder’s eyes darkened, the primal fae instincts taking over. Instincts I knew all too well. This time, when he rushed
forward and sent a fist flying toward my stomach, I let him hit me.
I was prepared for it, but the air rushed from my lungs, leaving me doubled over in the middle of the courtyard.
“Give up,” he hissed. “You don’t stand a chance.”
I shook my head and braced myself with hands on my knees. Strong enough to survive, weak enough to blend in. I couldn’t
give up. Not on day one. Not like this.
“I’m not giving up.” No, if he wanted to win this fight, he would have to earn it. I could only fight my lifetime of training so
much.
“You want me to hit you again, rat? Fine by me,” he growled. The next punch landed square on my jaw, sending me
stumbling sideways.
My vision blurred. Blood filled my mouth.
I spit to the side and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I whispered, straightening myself. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but the cockiness on
his face lit a deep fire of hatred within me. “I thought you trained for this your entire life, Ryder. Isn’t that what I heard about
males like you?”
He swung again, aiming for my face, but I ducked and kicked my foot into his shin. He hissed in pain and whirled around,
sending an elbow into my back.
I tried to stay standing, but Ryder came at me again, tackling me from behind and sending us both sprawling on the ground.
His hands splayed around me, his full bodyweight pinning me down on my stomach.
He was too heavy to push off, especially from this position.
His hand found the back of my head, pressing my face into the grass from the side. “Give up,” Ryder hissed in my ear.
No, I wanted to yell. Over my dead fucking body, you prick.
“Relax, Ryder,” Lanson called from the crowd. “The fight’s over.”
Oh good. My knight in shining armor. I wanted to vomit.
Ryder pressed my face into the ground even harder, grinding me against the dirt, before finally climbing off me.
 I scrambled to my feet and retreated into the crowd, too embarrassed to look the commander in the eye. He wasn’t Lord,
but losing a fight embarrassed me all the same.
Even if it was part of the plan.
“Are you okay?” Ashlani asked, shoving herself over to me. “That asshole went way too hard on you.”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. Shame flushed my cheeks. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye, not Ashlani, not Ryder.
I knew I could have taken him, but even losing the fight on purpose made me feel fucking pathetic.
“Alright,” the commander said, finally breaking the tension. “Huntyr, learn to throw a solid punch. You won’t survive
without it. Let’s move on. More fighting and less playing, please.”
The crowd got busy watching the next two males fight, everyone all but forgetting about me and the brutal embarrassment
they just witnessed.
I finally brought myself to lift my gaze, only to find Wolf staring back at me. His electric gaze changed, though. Something
simmered there. I swore I saw something move in his deep blue irises.
But he blinked, and his eyes returned to normal. Perhaps I’d imagined the entire thing.
He lingered in the very back of the crowd, arms crossed over his chest and wings slightly expanded.
It was the type of gaze that made me feel exposed, naked. I didn’t look away, though. Wolf seemed pissed off, and would
probably look that way to most people, but I saw something else there, too.
Something enlightened. Something playful.
I forced myself to rip my eyes away as the next opponents began landing blows. So far, I had achieved what I needed to. I’d
managed to blend in. People might remember my horrific failure of a fight, but at least they wouldn’t be seeing me as a threat.
Although, my attention kept drifting off to Wolf, kept finding him standing there, staring back at me with fierce eyes.
He saw right through me. I knew he did. He had seen me fight before. Surely, he would know why I had to lose these fights.
Surely, he would keep my secret.
It’s not like he was making friends here, anyway. The other students avoided him as if he were poison.
The feeling of unease washed over me every time we made eye contact, though. I tried to focus on the throbbing of my body
instead, tried to think of the pain I felt every time I caught myself looking for his tall figure across the courtyard.
I can do this, I reminded myself. I have no other choice.
 Chapter

Nine

B
y the time the sun set, my body screamed at me.
I had trained like this before many, many times with Lord, but I never took so many losses. I had two more matches
after my fight with Ryder, each one weakening my body with hits and punches that I could hardly fight back. I found myself
warring with my instincts more than I ever had, and if I was being honest, that was more painful than the physical torture.
Either way, I limped back to my bedroom when all was said and done.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind me that I pressed my back against it, closed my eyes, and finally relaxed.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Wolf’s voice sang through the air.
I opened my eyes to find him lounging in bed above his covers, shirtless, with his wings splayed out. It was funny how
relaxed his wings could look, so different from the fierce, sharp position they were held in during training.
“I’m not in the mood,” I argued, limping toward the bathroom connected to our room.
“After watching you get your ass kicked all day, I must say, I have a few questions.”
I gritted my teeth. “I said I’m not in the mood, angel.”
I made it to the doorway of the bathroom and paused with a hand on the wall. My breathing came out labored.
Wolf sat up in bed. My instincts narrowed in on him, on his movements, as he pushed himself up and walked over to me.
“That’s going to hurt tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m dying to know if this was all part of your master plan,
Huntress. Do tell.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of anything but how close he stood. I couldn’t even get a minute of peace in this
damned academy.
“That’s none of your business,” I hissed. Hells, even talking hurt more than I would have liked to admit.
The punches to my face weren’t the ones that bothered me. They never were. It was the hits to my ribs, my shoulders, my
back that lingered. I healed quickly, yes, but these bruises were going to take a few days. On top of the still-healing scars from
Lord’s punishment, I was in for an endless week of combat training.
I tried to take another step into the bathroom where I could close the door and fall apart without an audience, but my legs
betrayed me. I stumbled forward, prepared to crash against the stone floor, but muscular arms hooked around my waist and
hoisted me back up.
Wolf carried me into the bathroom and, within a second, set me on the edge of the bathtub. I didn’t fight him; I didn’t have
the energy to.
I hissed in pain when he removed his arms from my body.
“Damn, Huntress,” he whispered, kneeling in front of me. “This doesn’t look too good for you.”
“It’s fine. I just need to clean the blood off and get some rest before tomorrow.”
From his position on the bathroom floor, he looked up at me, scanning my features the way he did way too often.
Hells. Wolf looked good on his knees. Especially when kneeling in front of me.
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked. With his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide, he looked softer. Kinder, even. So
much so that it was startling.
I let my eyes flutter closed. Wolf’s hands lingered on my knees. I hated to admit it, but the heat from his touch distracted me
from the pain.
“Answer me,” he demanded. He didn’t sound angry. No, he sounded confused. Desperate, almost.
“They can’t know,” I whispered, keeping my eyes shut.
Wolf’s hands drifted down my legs, so light I barely felt it. He began unlacing my boots. Slowly, ensuring each lace was
fully untied before beginning the next one.
I took a long, shaking breath. I blamed my unease on the pain, not the fact that he touched me with such an intimate delicacy.
“They can’t know what?” he asked. “That you’re a fighter? That you deserve to be here?”
I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Thankfully, Wolf’s gaze stayed focused on my boots, giving me space to reply.
I wasn’t sure I could have said the words if he was looking at my face.
 “That I’m a threat,” I said finally.
The words sounded ridiculous after what had transpired in the courtyard today, but Wolf didn’t laugh. His fingers stopped
working on my laces as he looked up, pinning me beneath his gaze. “You don’t have to torture yourself to get to The Golden
City,” he whispered. “You can show them how strong you are and still make it.”
“You know that’s not true,” I replied. “They’ll go after the strongest competition first. If not now, then they’ll target me
during the final test.”
“Not if you become dangerous enough to scare them. If they knew what you were back in Midgrave—”
“Stop,” I interrupted, my voice stronger than I meant it to be. “Nobody can know where I came from. Nobody can know
what I am.”
A trained vampyre assassin. A weapon. An undeniable slayer. A Phantom.
“They would respect you if they knew.” He was trying to help, I knew that. Why? I wasn’t sure. I had battled with the idea
of showing my dominance in this academy, but ultimately, it would only create more problems.
“I’m asking you not to tell anyone,” I whispered. My eyes pleaded, begged him to listen to me. I was at Wolf’s mercy,
which was the absolute last place I wanted to be right now.
He stared back at me for a second. I thought maybe he would argue with me again, perhaps tell me how stupid I was to let
them think of me as prey. But after a while, he busied himself with my other boot, untying the laces faster than before.
“Fine,” he said, finishing his job and rising from his knees. “If you want to get pummeled into the dirt every day until the
Transcendent, that’s on you. But when you’re too weak and injured to stop pretending you can’t fight back, you’re going to wish
you had.”
“We’ll see about that,” I muttered, kicking my boots off and trying to stand.
Wolf’s hands shot out, ready to catch me if I fell. The worry on his face was unmistakable. “Let me at least help you.”
“No,” I argued. Wolf already questioned me. If he saw the scars on my back, he wouldn’t look at me the same. “I can do it
myself. Just go to bed.”
His jaw tightened as he searched my face, no doubt waiting for me to change my mind.
But a few seconds later, he turned and left, closing the bathroom door behind him.
For fuck’s sake. First, he threatens me. Now, he’s unlacing my boots and offering to help me undress?
I didn’t understand him, not in the slightest.
With Wolf gone, I peeled my black top off and surveyed my body in the small, rusted mirror that hung above the stone sink.
Against my stark pale skin, bruises had already formed. Red marks littered my chest, my shoulders, my ribs. Especially my
ribs.
My face had a nasty split, likely from my fight with Ryder. It had already scabbed over, but the skin below was angry and
swollen.
I turned around, glancing over my shoulder at my back.
The whipping scars had been healing nicely, but now? The skin split open, the bruises mixing with the damaged surface to
create an anomaly of horrid, disfigured marks.
No, Wolf certainly would not want to see this.
Nobody would.
But that didn’t matter, I reminded myself. I wasn’t here to heal my back or to look nice for the males in this academy.
Stay quiet. Stay under the radar.
I peeled the rest of my clothes off and, somehow without audible grunting, sank into the hot water of the bathtub.
The bath felt like the goddess herself had blessed the water. I didn’t have hot water back home. The cold water of the river
had been the only way to relieve the screaming pain in my body. But this? This was better than all of that. This was better than
the river, better than any ointment Lord could have given me.
I laid my head back on the edge of the tub, submerging my bruised body until everything below my chin soaked in the
water's warmth.
I could do this. I could get through this. Just a couple months, right? A couple of months and I would be in The Golden City,
ready for whatever Lord planned next. I would not let him down, even if bruises covered every inch of my skin.
The hot water eventually fell cold enough to force me out of the tub and back into my bed.
Wolf was gone when I re-entered the bedroom. But I’d grown too exhausted to care, too tired to wonder where he could
possibly be. My eyes were heavy as I crawled under the covers and let my body relax into the soft mattress.
Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow had to be better.
“H untyr!” Ashlani called out as I entered the classroom. “We saved you a seat!”
Everyone else was too occupied with themselves to notice Ashlani and Lanson calling me over to their corner of the
study room. I took a quick sweep of the other students, only partially looking for Wolf, but I didn’t see his tall, winged
figure anywhere.
Wolf wasn’t in our room when I woke up this morning either, but a shiny red apple lay next to my head on my pillow.
In my right mind, I would have checked to see if he had poisoned it first. But I was exhausted and frankly desperate, so I
accepted the gesture without fighting it.
“Hey,” Lanson said as I took the seat next to him. “It’s good to see you’re up and walking. After yesterday, I was worried.”
Ashlani leaned forward, surveying my bruised face with pursed lips. “Oh, honey,” she started, voice laced with pity.
“Yesterday was rough. It’ll get easier from here on out, okay?”
I kept my mouth tightly shut and nodded. Ashlani was able to escape yesterday’s training with nothing but a minor bruise on
her cheekbone. She wasn’t paired with one of the largest fighters on her very first day.
No, Ashlani fought her roommate once, and Lanson hadn’t even been forced to spar.
Headmistress walked into the room, pulling Ashlani’s attention away from me. Lanson’s gaze lingered, though. His bright
eyes scanned my face, pausing on the cheek that I know was bruised and split.
His hand reached up, almost as if he were going to touch my face.
I froze. I almost wanted him to.
I wasn’t used to this blatant affection Lanson was showing me. Okay, to anyone else, it might not have qualified as
affection.
But to me?
It was overwhelming.
The study room door slammed shut, making us both flinch. I turned in time to see Wolf sauntering forward, eyes glued on
me. He stopped for a second, gaze sliding to Lanson and darkening, before he eyed the open seat on the other side of me.
All hells.
I turned my attention to the front of the classroom while Wolf pulled the seat out and made himself comfortable next to me.
Lanson stiffened on my other side, also deterring his gaze.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” Wolf whispered, loud enough for only me to hear.
I turned and gave him a death glare, only to find him smirking back at me. “Leave me alone,” I mouthed.
He responded by stretching upward, pushing his legs out in front of him while he let his arm fall over the back of my chair.
Was he kidding? Even if Lanson was pretending not to notice, Wolf’s motions were undeniable. He commanded everyone’s
attention in the room.
Everyone’s.
I gritted my teeth and focused on Headmistress Katherine, who settled in at the front of the room. She wore a floor-length
black dress fit to her body with sleeves that expanded around her hands, and she faced us in a way that made the hair on the
back of my neck stand up. She tended to have that effect on me, even before a single word left her mouth.
“Good morning,” she began. “Today, we’ll be going over the basics of the magic used in The Golden City. Some of you
may know about what goes on there, and some of you have only heard rumors and stories. Today, we’ll learn the truth.”
Magic? I shifted in my seat. I had wanted to learn more about magic since Lord mentioned it in Midgrave. Headmistress
Katherine had my full attention.
“Who can tell me what magic is wielded in The Golden City?”
“The strongest magic in existence,” Ashlani answered without missing a beat.
“That’s right. And why is it so powerful?” The study chambers fell silent. “Anyone? What about you, Wolf Jasper? Any
reason why the magic in The Golden City is unlike anything we have access to here in Vaehatis?”
All eyes turned to Wolf, mine included. His jaw tightened for one second before he answered, “The archangels allow it.
They bless the lands with ungodly amounts of power.”
“That’s right.” Headmistress grinned. “The archangels hold the power. So long as they live within the walls of The Golden
City, that is where the magic remains.”
“How are we supposed to learn magic if we aren’t in The Golden City? I mean, what’s the point?” Ryder asked from the
front row.
“You’ll learn the basics here,” she replied. “Moira, as I’m sure you’ve all realized by now, is not an average seminary.
This place was created on lands blessed by the archangels themselves. A magic lingers here that is not present in the rest of
Vaehatis; it’s what makes this entire academy what it is.”
Chills rushed down my arms. I knew I felt something different as soon as we arrived here, something chilling and dark and
primal.
Headmistress paused for a moment before a gust of wind appeared out of nowhere. I watched with my jaw falling open as
wings—dark, beautiful, leathery wings—appeared on either side of her slim shoulders.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Whatever outward respect Charles may have voluntarily offered to
the prejudices and observances of Spanish ceremony, he, and
perhaps the blushing Infanta, thought it very cumbersome love-work
for young hearts. Words had passed between them, it is true, but
only through the medium of an interpreter, and always in the
presence of the king, for Philip “sat hard by, to overhear all,” and
understand if he could, the interpretations made by Lord Bristol.
Weary of this restraint, the prince soon found means, or rather an
opportunity, to break through the pompous obstacles which opposed
the good old plan of love-making, and he, with Endymion Porter to
attend him, did not fail to profit by the occasion. Near the city, but
across the river, the king had a summer-house, called Casa di
Campo. Charles discovered that the Infanta was accustomed to go
very often of a morning to gather May-dew. The knight and esquire,
accordingly, donning a silken suit for a spring morning, went out
betimes, and arrived without let or hindrance at the Casa di Campo.
Their quality was a sure passport, and doors, immovably closed to
all others, opened to them. They passed through the house into the
garden, but to their wonder and disappointment, the “light of love”
was not visible. The Infanta had not arrived, or had fled, and
disappointment seemed likely to be the probable reward of their
labor. The garden was divided from an adjoining orchard by a high
wall; the prince heard voices on the other side, perhaps heard the
voice, and hastened to a door which formed the only communication
of the two divisions. To try this outlet was the work of a moment; to
find it most vexatiously locked, was the conviction of the next. The
lover was at bay, and Endymion’s confused brain had no resource to
suggest. They looked at the wall. It was high, undoubtedly; but was
ever such a barrier too high for a king’s son—a knight and a gallant,
when it stood between him and such a “star” as the muse of De
Vega made of the Infanta? Charles was on the summit of the wall
almost as soon as the thought of climbing it had first struck him; with
the same eagerness he sprang lightly down on the other side, and
hastily made toward the object of his temerity. Unfortunately there
was an old “duenna” of a marquis with her in quality of guardian, and
the Infanta, who perchance expected to see the intruder, was
constrained, for the sake of appearances, to scream with well-
dissembled terror. “She gave a shriek and ran back.” Charles
followed, but the grim marquis interfered his unwelcome person
between the lovers. “Turning to the prince, he fell on his knees,
conjuring his highness to retire;” he swore by his head, that if he
admitted the prince to the company of the Infanta, he, the grisly
guardian of the dove, might pay for it with his head. As the lady,
meanwhile, had fled, and did not return, Charles was not obdurate.
Maria, though she had escaped (because seen) could not but be
pleased with the proof he had given of his devotion, and as the old
marquis continued to talk of his head, the prince, whose business lay
more with the heart, turned round and walked slowly away. He
advanced toward the door, the portal was thrown open, and thus, as
Mr. Howell pithily says, “he came out under that wall over which he
had got in.” Endymion was waiting for him, and perhaps for his story,
but the knight was sad, and his squire solemn. Charles looked an
embodying of the idea of gloom, and Master Porter, with some ill-will,
was compelled to observe a respectful silence.
The Infanta and her governor hurried back to the palace, while her
suitor and his followers were left to rail in their thoughts against the
caprice of the ladies, and the reserve of royal masters; and so ends
a pretty story of “how a princess went to gather May-dew.”
This solitary and unsuccessful love-passage was the last effort which
Charles made to engage the good-will of Maria. He, at once, retired
to his apartments in the palace; whence he seldom went abroad,
except for the purpose of attending a bull-fight. Buckingham was sick
a-bed, his offended nobility lay ill-disposed at court, and the palace
residence was gradually becoming irksome to all parties. Charles
could only have bedchamber prayers, and not possessing a room
where he might have attended the service of his own church, the
sacred plate and vestments he had brought over were never used.
Moreover, the Knights of the Garter, Lords Carlisle and Denbigh, had
well nigh set the palace on fire, through leaving their lighted pipes in
a summer-house. The threatened mischief, however, was prevented
by the activity of Master Davies, my Lord of Carlisle’s barber, who
“leapt down a great height and quenched it.” Perhaps a more
unfortunate accident than this, in the eyes of a Catholic population,
was a brawl within the royal precinct between Ballard, an English
priest, and an English knight, Sir Edmund Varney. The prince had a
page named Washington, lying mortally ill; to save his soul the
anxious priest hastened to the death-bed of the page; here, however,
he met Sir Edmund, an unflinching pillar of the English church. An
unseemly scene ensued; and while knight and priest passed from
words to blows, the poor suffering page silently died, and soon after
was consigned to the earth under a fig-tree in Lord Bristol’s Garden.
In the meantime, the Princess Infanta was publicly addressed as
Princess of Wales, and as an acquaintance with the English
language was a possession much to be desired by the bearer of so
proud a title, the Lady Maria began “her accidence,” and turned her
mind to harsh declensions and barbarous conjugations. Though
enthusiasm had somewhat cooled, the business continued to
proceed; the most serious interruption was occasioned by the death
of the Pontiff, as it entailed many of the ensuing obstacles which at
once began to rise. The unfinished work of Gregory was thought to
require a da capo movement from his successor Urban, and the new
Hierarch commenced a string of objections and proposals, which
were of no other effect than to produce mistrust and delay.
Buckingham too, recovering from his sickness, longed to return to
England, where it was now understood that the Pope’s tardiness was
founded on hopes of the prince’s conversion. The people of England
were alarmed and clamorous. Charles and the duke discontented
and impatient. The latter urged a return, and the prince, in
expressing his wishes to Philip, stated as his reasons, his father’s
age and infirmities, the murmurs of his people, and the fact that a
fleet was at sea to meet him. He added, a most close argument, that
the articles which had been signed in England bore, as a proviso,
that if he did not return by a specified month, they should be of no
validity. It honorably belied the suspicions against the Spanish
Cabinet, that not the slightest opposition was made to the return;
proxies were named, and on the termination of affairs with the Pope,
Maria was to follow Charles to England. The lady is said to have
remarked, that if she was not worth waiting for she was not worth
having. Charles must have felt the remark, but the duke was
paramount, and the wind, which favored their departure, as speedily
blew away the popularity of a prince whose knightly bearing, modest
gallantry, and high virtues, so particularly formed him for the favorite
of a romantic nation. The treaty for the Spanish match was broken.
The secret history of the French match possesses an equal interest
with that of the Spanish; but Charles only wrote to his bride on this
occasion, and met her, on her way to him, at Canterbury.
As a further instance of the chivalrous gallantry of Charles I., it
deserves to be recorded, that he it was who suggested a revival of
the custom of inviting the ladies to participate in the honors of the
Garter. I have elsewhere said, that at one time, the ladies were
regularly admitted, but nothing is known as to when this gallant
custom was first introduced. Dr. Barrington, in his excellent “Lectures
on Heraldry,” says, that “in the earliest notice of the habit of the order
having been issued to the ladies, immediately after the accession of
Richard II.,” they are said to have been “newly received into the
Society of the Garter,” and were afterward called “Ladies of the
Fraternity of St. George.” Who were admitted to this distinguished
order, or how long the practice continued, does not appear, though it
is probable it had fallen into disuse in the time of Henry VIII. Charles
remained content with merely suggesting the revival of the custom,
and “nothing,” says Dr. Barrington, “seems to have been done to
carry this suggestion into effect. If any one period,”—adds the doctor,
most appropriately—“if any one period were more fit than another for
doing it, it must surely be the present, when a lady is the sovereign
of the order.”
 THE KINGS OF ENGLAND AS KNIGHTS.
FROM STUART TO BRUNSWICK.

Charles II. loved the paraphernalia of courts and chivalry. He

even designed to create two new orders of knighthood—namely “the
Knights of the Sea,” a naval order for the encouragement of the sea-
service; and “the Knights of the Royal Oak,” in memory of his
deliverance, and for the reward of civil merit. He never went much
farther than the intention. He adopted the first idea at another’s
suggestion, and straightway thought no more of it. The second
originated with himself, and a list of persons was made out, on which
figured the names of the intended knights. The matter never went
further.
At Charles’s coronation, the knights of the Bath were peculiarly
distinguished for their splendor. They were almost too gorgeously
attired to serve as waiters, and carry up, as they did the first course
to the king’s own table, at the coronation banquet, after a knight of
the Garter had been to the kitchen and had eaten a bit of the first
dish that was to be placed before his Sacred Majesty.
If the king was fond of show, some at least of his knights, shared in
the same feeling of vanity. The robes in recent times were worn only
on occasions of ceremony and service. The king revived a fashion
which his knights followed, and which sober people (who were not
knights) called a ridiculous humor. They were “so proud of their
coats,” as the expression went, that they not only wore them at
home, but went about in them, and even rode about the park with
them on. Mr. Pepys is particularly indignant on this matter especially
so, when told that the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Oxford were
seen, “in a hackney-coach, with two footmen in the park with their
robes on; which,” adds the censor, “is a most scandalous thing, so
as all gravity may be said to be lost, among us.” There was more
danger of what Pepys calls “gravity” being lost, when the Order, at
command of the Sovereign head, elected such men as the Elector of
Saxony, who had no other distinction but that of being a good
drinker.
I do not know what the rule now may be in St. George’s Chapel, but
in the reign of Charles II., a singular regulation is noticed by Pepys.
He went in good company to the royal chapel, where he was placed,
by Dr. Childe, the organist, “among the knights’ stalls, and pretty the
observation,” he adds, “that no man, but a woman, may sit in a
knight’s place, where any brass plates are set.” What follows is also,
in some degree, germane to our purpose. “Hither come cushions to
us, and a young singing boy to bring us a copy of the anthem to be
sung. And here, for our sakes, had this anthem and the great service
sung extraordinary, only to entertain us. Great bowing by all the
people, the poor knights particularly, toward the altar.”
Charles II. was the first monarch who allowed the Knights of the
Garter to wear, as at present, the star of the order on the breast of
the coat. Our present queen has renewed in her gracious person,
the custom that was once observed, if we may believe Ashmole, by
the ladies, that is, the wives of Knights of the Garter—namely, of
wearing the symbol of the order as a jewelled badge, or a bracelet,
on the arm. This is in better taste than the mode adopted by Lady
Castlereagh, at the gay doings attendant upon the sitting of the
Congress of Vienna; where the noble lady in question appeared at
court with her husband’s jewelled garter, as a bandeau, round her
forehead!
James II. has had not merely his apologists but his defenders. He
had far more of the knightly character than is commonly supposed.
For a long time he labored under the disadvantage of being
represented, in England, by historians only of the Orange faction.
Poor Richard the Third has suffered by a similar misfortune. He was
wicked enough, but he was not the monster described by the Tudor
historians and dramatists.
James, in his youth, had as daring and as crafty a spirit as ever
distinguished the most audacious of pages. The tact by the
employment of which he successfully made his escape from the
republican guards who kept him imprisoned at St. James’s, would
alone be sufficient proof of this. When Duke of York, he had the
compliment paid to him by Condé, that if ever there was a man
without fear it was he. Under Turenne he earned a reputation of
which any knight might be proud; and in the service of Spain, he won
praise for courage, from leaders whose bravery was a theme for
eulogy in every mouth.
Partisans, not of his own faction, have censured his going publicly to
mass soon after his accession; but it must be remembered that the
Knights of the Garter, in the collar of their order, complacently
accompanied him, and that the Duke of Norfolk was the only knight
who left him at the door of the chapel.
He had little of the knight in him in his method of love, if one may so
speak. He cared little for beauty; so little, that his brother Charles
remarked that he believed James selected his mistresses by way of
penance. He was coarsely minded, and neither practised fidelity nor
expected it in others. Whatever he may have been in battle, there
was little of the refinement of chivalry about him in the bower. It was
said of Louis XIV. and his successor, that if they were outrageously
unfaithful to their consorts, they never failed to treat them with the
greatest politeness. James lacked even this little remnant of
chivalrous feeling; and he was barely courteous to his consort till
adversity taught him the worth of Mary of Modena.
He was arrogant in prosperity, but the slightest check dreadfully
depressed him, and it is hardly necessary to say that he who is
easily elated or easily depressed, has little in him of the hero. His
conduct when his throne was menaced was that of a poor craven. It
had not about it the dignity of even a decent submission. He rose
again, however, to the heroic when he attempted to recover his
kingdom, and took the field for that purpose. This conduct has been
alluded to by a zealous and impartial writer in the “Gentleman’s
Magazine,” for November, 1855. “After the battle of the Boyne,” he
says, “the Orange party circulated the story that James had acted in
the most cowardly manner, and fled from the field before the issue
was decided. Not only was this, in a very short time believed, but
even sensible historians adopted it, and it came down to us as an
historical fact. Now in the secret archives of France there are several
letters which passed between Queen Mary and the Earl of
Tyrconnel, and these together with some of the secret papers,
dispose at once of the whole story. It has now been placed beyond a
doubt, that the king was forced from the field. Even when the day
was lost and the Dutch veterans had routed the half-armed and
undisciplined Irish, James rallied a part of the French troops, and
was leading them on, when Tyrconnel and Lauzun interposed,
pointed out the madness of the attempt, and seizing the reins of his
horse, compelled him to retreat.”
This is perhaps proving a little too much, for if the day was lost, it
was not bravery, but rashness, that sought to regain it; and it is the
first merit of a knight, the great merit of a general, to discern when
blood may be spilled to advantage. As for the archives in France,
one would like to know upon what authority the papers preserved
there make their assertions. Documents are exceedingly valuable to
historians, but they are not always trustworthy. The archives of
France may contain Canrobert’s letter explaining how he was
compelled to put constraint upon the bravery of Prince Napoleon,
and send him home, in consequence of severe indisposition. And yet
the popular voice has since applied a very uncomplimentary
surname to the Prince—quite as severe, but not so unsavory, as that
which the people of Drogheda still apply to James. In either case
there is considerable uncertainty. I am inclined to believe the best of
both of these illustrious personages, but seeing that the uncertainty
is great, I am not sure that Scarron was wrong when he said that the
best way of writing history was by writing epigrams, pointed so as to
prick everybody.
Cottington (Stafford’s Letters) tells us of a domestic trouble in which
James was concerned with one of his knights. The king’s perplexities
about religion began early. “The nurse is a Roman Catholic, to whom
Sir John Tunston offered the oath of allegiance, and she refused it;
whereupon there grew a great noise both in the town and court; and
the queen afflicted herself with extreme passion upon knowledge of
a resolution to change the woman. Yet after much tampering with the
nurse to convert her, she was let alone, to quiet the queen.” The
dissension is said to have so troubled the nurse, as also to have
injured the child, and never had knight or king more difficult task than
James, in his desire to please all parties.
It was one of the characteristics of a knight to bear adversity without
repining; and if Dodd may be believed, James II. was distinguished
for this great moral courage in his adversity. The passage in Dodd’s
Church History is worth extracting, though somewhat long: “James
was never once heard to repine at his misfortune. He willingly heard
read the scurrilous pamphlets that were daily published in England
against him. If at any time he showed himself touched, it was to hear
of the misfortunes of those gentlemen who suffered on his account.
He would often entertain those about him with the disorders of his
youth, but it was with a public detestation of them, and an
admonition to others not to follow his example. The very newspapers
were to him a lesson of morality; and the daily occurrences, both in
the field and the cabinet, were looked upon by him, not as the result
of second causes, but as providential measures to chastise both
nations and private persons, according to their deserts. He would
sometimes say that the exalted state of a king was attended with this
great misfortune, that he lived out of the reach of reproof, and
mentioned himself as an example. He read daily a chapter in the
Bible, and another in that excellent book, ‘The Following of Christ.’ In
his last illness he publicly forgave all his enemies, and several of
them by name, especially the Prince of Orange, whom he
acknowledged to be his greatest friend, as being the person whom
Providence had made use of to scourge him and humble him in the
manner he had done, in order to save his soul.” As something very
nearly approaching to reality, this is more pleasing than the details of
dying knights in romance, who after hacking at one another for an
hour, mutually compliment each other’s courage, and die in the
happiest frame of mind possible. Some one speaking of this king,
and of Innocent II., made an apt remark, worth the quoting; namely,
that “he wished for the peace of mankind that the pope had turned
papist, and the king of England, protestant!” How far the latter was
from this desired consummation is wittily expressed in the epitaph on
James, made by one of the poet-chevaliers, or, as some say, by one
of the abbés who used to lounge about the terrace of St. Germains.
 “C’est ici que Jacques Second,
Sans ministres et sans maitresses,
Le matin allait à la messe,
Et le soir allait au sermon.”

I have noticed, in a previous page, the very scant courtesy which the
queen of Charles I. met with at the hands of a Commonwealth
admiral. The courtesy of some of the Stuart knights toward royal
ladies was not, however, of a much more gallant aspect. I will
illustrate this by an anecdote told by M. Macaulay in the fourth
volume of his history. The spirit of the Jacobites in William’s reign
had been excited by the news of the fall of Mons.... “In the parks the
malcontents wore their biggest looks, and talked sedition in their
loudest tones. The most conspicuous among these swaggerers was
Sir John Fenwick, who had in the late reign been high in favor and
military command, and was now an indefatigable agitator and
conspirator. In his exaltation he forgot the courtesy which man owes
to woman. He had more than once made himself conspicuous by his
impertinence to the queen. He now ostentatiously put himself in her
way when she took her airing, and while all around him uncovered
and bowed low, gave her a rude stare, and cocked his hat in her
face. The affront was not only brutal but cowardly. For the law had
provided no punishment for mere impertinence, however gross; and
the king was the only gentleman and soldier in the kingdom who
could not protect his wife from contumely with his sword. All that the
queen could do was to order the park-keepers not to admit Sir John
again within the gates. But long after her death a day came when he
had reason to wish that he had restrained his insolence. He found,
by terrible proof, that of all the Jacobites, the most desperate
assassins not excepted, he was the only one for whom William felt
an intense personal aversion.”
The portrait of William III. as drawn by Burnet, does not wear any
very strong resemblance to a hero. The “Roman nose and bright
sparkling eyes,” are the most striking features, but the “countenance
composed of gravity and authority,” has more of the magistrate than
the man at arms. Nevertheless, and in despite of his being always
asthmatical, with lungs oppressed by the dregs of small-pox, and the
slow and “disgusting dryness” of his speech, there was something
chivalrous in the character of William. In “the day of battle he was all
fire, though without passion; he was then everywhere, and looked to
everything. His genius,” says Burnet in another paragraph, “lay
chiefly in war, in which his courage was more admired than his
conduct. Great errors were often committed by him; but his heroical
courage set things right, as it inflamed those who were about him.” In
connection with this part of his character may be noticed the fact that
he procured a parliamentary sanction for the establishment of a
standing army. His character, in other respects, is not badly
illustrated by a remark which he made, when Prince of Orange, to Sir
W. Temple, touching Charles II. “Was ever anything so hot and so
cold as this court of yours? Will the king, who is so often at sea,
never learn the word that I shall never forget, since my last passage,
when in a great storm the captain was crying out to the man at the
helm, all night, ‘Steady, steady, steady!’” He was the first of our kings
who would not touch for the evil. He would leave the working of all
miracles, he said, to God alone. The half-chivalrous, half-religious,
custom of washing the feet of the poor on Maundy Thursday, was
also discontinued by this prince, the last of the heroic five Princes of
Orange.
Great as William was in battle, he perhaps never exhibited more of
the true quality of bravery than when on his voyage to Holland in
1691, he left the fleet, commanded by Sir Cloudesley Shovel and Sir
George Rooke, and in the midst of a thick fog attempted, with some
noblemen of his retinue, to land in an open boat. “The danger,” says
Mr. Macaulay, who may be said to have painted the incident in a few
words, “proved more serious than they had expected.” It had been
supposed that in an hour the party would be on shore. But great
masses of floating ice impeded the progress of the skiff; the night
came on, the fog grew thicker, the waves broke over the king and the
courtiers. Once the keel struck on a sandbank, and was with great
difficulty got off. The hardiest mariners showed some signs of
uneasiness, but William through the whole night was as composed
as if he had been in the drawing-room at Kensington. “For shame,”
he said to one of the dismayed sailors, “are you afraid to die in my
company?” The vehis Cæsarem was, certainly, not finer than this.
The consort of Queen Anne was of a less chivalrous spirit than
William. Coxe says of him, that even in the battle-field he did not
forget the dinner-hour, and he appears to have had more stomach
for feeding than fighting. Of George I., the best that can be said of
him in his knightly capacity, has been said of him, by Smollet, in the
remark, that this prince was a circumspect general. He did not,
however, lack either courage or impetuosity. He may have learned
circumspection under William of Orange. Courage was the common
possession of all the Brunswick princes. Of some of them, it formed
the solitary virtue. But of George I., whom it was the fashion of poets,
aspiring to the laureatship, to call the great, it can not be said, as
was remarked of Philip IV. of Spain, when he took the title of “Great,”
“He has become great, as a ditch becomes great, by losing the land
which belonged to it.”
One more custom of chivalry observed in this reign, went finally out
in that of George II. I allude to the custom of giving hostages.
According to the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, “two persons of rank were
to reside in France, in that capacity, as sureties to France that Great
Britain should restore certain of its conquests in America and the
West Indies.” The “Chevalier,” Prince Charles Edward, accounted
this as a great indignity to England, and one which, he said, he
would not have suffered if he had been in possession of his rights.
The age of chivalry, in the old-fashioned sense of the word, went out
before Burke pronounced it as having departed. I do not think it
survived till the reign of George II. In that reign chivalry was defunct,
but there was an exclusive class, whose numbers arrogated to
themselves that nice sense of honor which was supposed, in olden
times, to have especially distinguished the knight. The people
alluded to were par excellence, the people of “fashion.” The
gentlemen who guarded, or who were supposed to guard, the
brightest principle of chivalry, were self-styled rather than universally
acknowledged, “men of honor.”
The man of honor has been painted by “one of themselves.” The
Earl of Chesterfield spoke with connoissance de fait, when he
treated of the theme; and his lordship, whose complacency on this
occasion, does not permit him to see that his wit is pointed against
himself, tells a story without the slightest recollection of the pithy
saying of the old bard, “De te fabula narratur.”
“A man of honor,” says Lord Chesterfield, “is one who peremptorily
affirms himself to be so, and who will cut anybody’s throat that
questions it, even upon the best grounds. He is infinitely above the
restraints which the laws of God or man lay upon vulgar minds, and
knows no other ties but those of honor, of which word he is to be the
sole expounder. He must strictly advocate a party denomination,
though he may be utterly regardless of its principles. His expense
should exceed his income considerably, not for the necessaries, but
for the superfluities of life, that the debts he contracts may do him
honor. There should be a haughtiness and insolence in his
deportment, which is supposed to result from conscious honor. If he
be choleric and wrong-headed into the bargain, with a good deal of
animal courage, he acquires the glorious character of a man of
honor; and if all these qualifications are duly seasoned with the
genteelest vices, the man of honor is complete; anything his wife,
children, servants, or tradesmen, may think to the contrary,
notwithstanding.”
Lord Chesterfield goes on to exemplify the then modern chivalrous
guardian of honor, by drawing the portrait of a friend under an
assumed name. He paints a certain “Belville” of whom his male
friends are proud, his female friends fond, and in whom his party
glories as a living example—frequently making that example the
authority for their own conduct. He has lost a fortune by
extravagance and gambling; he is uneasy only as to how his honor is
to be intact by acquitting his liabilities from “play.” He must raise
money at any price, for, as he says, “I would rather suffer the
greatest incumbrance upon my fortune, than the least blemish upon
my honor.” His privilege as a peer will preserve him from those
“clamorous rascals, the tradesmen”; and lest he should not be able
to get money by any other means, to pay his “debts of honor,” he
writes to the prime minister and offers to sell his vote and conscience
for the consideration of fifteen hundred pounds. He exacts his money
before he records his vote, persuaded as he is that the minister will
not be the first person that ever questioned the honor of the
chivalrous Belville.
The modern knight has, of course, a lady love. The latter is as much
like Guinever, of good King Arthur’s time, as can well be; and she
has a husband who is more suspicious and jealous than the founder
of the chivalrous Round Table. “Belville” can not imagine how the
lady’s husband can be suspicious, for he and Belville have been
play-fellows, school-fellows, and sworn friends in manhood.
Consequently, Belville thinks that wrong may be committed in all
confidence and security. “However,” he writes to the lady, “be
convinced that you are in the hands of a man of honor, who will not
suffer you to be ill-used, and should my friend proceed to any
disagreeable extremities with you, depend upon it, I will cut the c
——’s throat for him.”
Life in love, so in lying. He writes to an acquaintance that he had
“told a d——d lie last night in a mixed company,” and had challenged
a “formal old dog,” who had insinuated that “Belville” had violated the
truth. The latter requests his “dear Charles” to be his second—“the
booby,” he writes of the adversary who had detected him in a lie,
“was hardly worth my resentment, but you know my delicacy where
honor is concerned.”
Lord Chesterfield wrote more than one paper on the subject of men
of honor. For these I refer the reader to his lordship’s works. I will
quote no further from them than to show a distinction, which the
author draws with some ingenuity. “I must observe,” he says, “that
there is a great difference between a Man of Honor and a Person
of Honor. By Persons of Honor were meant, in the latter part of
the last century, bad authors and poets of noble birth, who were but
just not fools enough to prefix their names in great letters to the
prologues, epilogues, and sometimes even the plays with which they
entertained the public. But now that our nobility are too generous to
interfere in the trade of us poor, professed authors” (his lordship is
writing anonymously, in the World), “or to eclipse our performances
by the distinguished and superior excellency and lustre of theirs; the
meaning at present of a Person of Honor is reduced to the simple
idea of a Person of Illustrious Birth.”
The chivalrous courage of one of our admirals at the close of the
reign of George II., very naturally excited the admiration of Walpole.
“What milksops,” he writes in 1760, “the Marlboroughs and
Turennes, the Blakes and Van Tromps appear now, who whipped
into winter quarters and into ports the moment their nose looked
blue. Sir Cloudesley Shovel said that an admiral deserved to be
broken who kept great ships out after the end of September; and to
be shot, if after October. There is Hawke in the bay, weathering this
winter (January), after conquering in a storm.”
George III. was king during a longer period than any other sovereign
of England; and the wars and disasters of his reign were more
gigantic than those of any other period. He was little of a soldier
himself; was, however, constitutionally brave; and had his courage
and powers tested by other than military matters. The politics of his
reign wore his spirit more than if he had been engaged in carrying on
operations against an enemy. During the first ten years after his
accession, there were not less than seven administrations; and the
cabinets of Newcastle and Bute, Grenville and Rockingham, Grafton
and North, Shelburne and Portland, were but so many camps, the
leaders in which worried the poor monarch worse than the Greeks
badgered unhappy Agamemnon. Under the administration of Pitt he
was hardly more at his ease, and in no degree more so under that of
Addington, or that of All the Talents, and of Spencer Perceval. An
active life of warfare could not have more worn the spirit and health
of this king than political intrigues did; intrigues, however, be it said,
into which he himself plunged with no inconsiderable delight, and
with slender satisfactory results.
He was fond of the display of knightly ceremonies, and was never
more pleased than when he was arranging the ceremonies of
installation, and turning the simple gentlemen into knights. Of the
sons who succeeded him, George IV. was least like him in good
principle of any sort, while William IV. surpassed him in the
circumstance of his having been in action, where he bore himself
spiritedly. The race indeed has ever been brave, and I do not know
that I can better close the chapter than with an illustration of the
“Battle-cry of Brunswick.”
 THE BATTLE-CRY OF BRUNSWICK.
The “Battle-cry of Brunswick” deserves to be commemorated among
the acts of chivalry. Miss Benger, in her “Memoirs of Elizabeth,
Queen of Bohemia,” relates that Christian, Duke of Brunswick, was
touched alike by the deep misfortunes, and the cheerful patience of
that unhappy queen. Indignant at the neglect with which she was
treated by her father, James I. of England, and her uncle, Frederick
of Denmark, Duke Christian “seemed suddenly inspired by a
sentiment of chivalric devotion, as far removed from vulgar gallantry
as heroism from ferocity. Snatching from her hand a glove, which he
first raised with reverence to his lips, he placed it in his Spanish hat,
as a triumphal plume which, for her sake, he ever after wore as a
martial ornament; then drawing his sword he took a solemn oath
never to lay down arms until he should see the King and Queen of
Bohemia reinstated in the Palatinate. No sooner had Christian taken
this engagement than he eagerly proclaimed it to the world, by
substituting on his ensign, instead of his denunciation of priests, an
intelligible invocation to Elizabeth in the words ‘For God and for her!’
Fur Gott und fur sie!”

“Flash swords! fly pennons! helm and shield

Go glittering forth in proud array!
Haste knight and noble to the field,
Your pages wait, your chargers neigh.
Up! gentlemen of Germany!
Who love to be where strife is seen,
For Brunswick leads the fight to-day,
For God and the Queen!

“Let them to-day, for fame who sigh,

And seek the laurels of the brave;
Or they who long, ’ere night, to lie
Within a soldier’s honored grave,
Round Brunswick’s banner take their stand;
’Twill float around the bloody scene,
As long as foeman walks the land,
’Gainst God and the Queen.

“Draw, Barons, whose proud homes are placed

 In many a dark and craig-topped tower;
Forward, ye knights, who have been graced
In tourney lists and ladies’ bower.
And be your country’s good the cause
Of all this proud and mortal stir,
While Brunswick his true sabre draws
For God and for her!

“To Him we look for such good aid

As knights may not be shamed to ask,
For vainly drawn would be each blade,
And weakly fitted to its task,
Each lance we wield, did we forget
When loud we raise our battle-cry,
For old Bohemia’s Queen, to set
Our hopes with God on high.”

The original superscription on the banner of Brunswick was the very

energetic line: “Christian of Brunswick, the friend of God and the
enemy of priests.” Naylor, in his “Civil and Military History of
Germany,” says, that the Duke imprinted the same legend on the
money which he had coined out of the plate of which he had
plundered the convents, and he adds, in a note derived from Galetti,
that “the greater part of the money coined by Christian was derived
from twelve silver statues of the apostles, which the bigotry of
preceding ages had consecrated, in the cathedral of Munster.” When
the Duke was accused of impiety by some of his followers, he
sheltered himself under the authority of Scripture; and pretended to
have only realized the ancient precept: “Go hence, into all parts of
the earth!”
Having seen the English Kings as knights, let us look at a few of the
men whom they knighted.
 RECIPIENTS OF KNIGHTHOOD.
“The dew of grace bless our new knights to-day.”
Beaumont and Fletcher.

The Conquest was productive of a far more than average quantity

of knights. Indeed, I think it may be asserted without fear of
contradiction, that the first and the last William, and James I. were
more addicted to dubbing knights than any other of our sovereigns.
The good-natured William IV. created them in such profusion that, at
last, gentlemen at the head of deputations appeared in the royal
presence with a mysterious dread lest, in spite of themselves, they
should be compelled to undergo a chivalric metamorphosis, at the
hands of the “sea king.” The honor was so constantly inflicted, that
the recipients were massed together by “John Bull” as “The
Thousand and one (K)nights!”
William the Conqueror was not so lavish in accolades as his
descendant of remoter days, nor was he so off-handed in the way of
administering the distinction. He drew his sword with solemnity, laid it
on the shoulder before him with a sort of majestic composure, and
throughout the ceremony looked as calm as dignity required. William
is said to have ennobled or knighted his cook. He does not stand
alone in having so acted: for, unless I am singularly mistaken, the
great Louis tied some small cross of chivalry to the button-hole of the
immortal Vatel. William’s act, however, undoubtedly gave dignity to
that department in palaces, whence many princes have derived their
only pleasure. It was from him that there passed into the palace of
France the term “Officiers de Service,” a term which has been
appropriated by others of less elevated degree than those whom it
originally served to distinguish. The term has led to a standing joke
in such dwellings. “Qui vive?” exclaims a sentinel in one of the base
passages, as one of these officials draws near at night. “Officier,” is
the reply of the modest official in question. “Quel officier?” asks the
guard. “Officier de service!” proudly answers he who is thus
questioned; whereupon the soldier smilingly utters “Passe, Caramel!”
and the royal officer—not of the body-guard, passes, as smilingly, on
his way.
But, to return from Caramel to the Conqueror, I have to observe, that
the cook whom William knighted bore an unmusical, if not an
unsavory, name. The culinary artist was called Tezelin. The service
by which he had won knighthood consisted in the invention of a
white soup for maigre days. The hungry but orthodox William had
been accustomed to swallow a thin broth “à l’eau de savon;” but
Tezelin placed before him a tureen full of an orthodox yet appetizing
liquid, which he distinguished by the name of Dillegrout. The name is
not promising, particularly the last syllable, but the dish could not
have been a bad one. William created the inventor “chevalier de
l’office,” and Sir Caramel Tezelin was farther gratified by being made
Lord of the Manor of Addington. Many a manor had been the wages
of less honest service.
The Tiercelins are descendants of the Tezelins; and it has often
struck me as curious that of two recently-deceased holders of that
name, one, a cutler in England, was famous for the excellence of his
carving-knives; and the other, an actor in France, used to maintain
that the first of comic parts was the compound cook-coachman in
Molière’s “Avare.” Thus did they seem to prove their descent from
the culinary chivalry of William of Normandy.
But there are other samples of William’s knights to be noticed.
Among the followers who landed with him between Pevensey and
Hastings, was a Robert who, for want of a surname, and because of
his sinews, was called Robert le Fort, or “Strong.” It would have gone
ill with William on the bloody day on which he won a throne, had it
not been for this Robert le Fort, who interposed his escu or shield,
between the skull of the Norman and the battle-axe of a Saxon
warrior. This opportune service made a “Sieur Robert” of him who
rendered it, and on the coat-of-arms awarded to the new knight was
inscribed the device which yet belongs to the Fortescues;—“Forte
Scutum Salus Ducum,”—a strong shield is the salvation of dukes—
or leaders, as the word implies. The Duke of Normandy could not
have devised a more appropriate motto; but he was probably helped
to it by the learning and ready wit of his chaplain.
The danger into which William rushed that day was productive of
dignity to more than one individual. Thus, we hear of a soldier who,
on finding William unhorsed, and his helmet beaten into his face,
remounted his commander after cleverly extricating his head from
the battered load of iron that was about it. William, later in the day,
came upon the trusty squire, fainting from the loss of a leg and a
thigh. “You gave me air when I lacked it,” said the Conqueror, “and
such be, henceforth, thy name; and for thy lost leg and thigh, thou
shalt carry them, from this day, on thy shield of arms.” The maimed
knight was made lord of broad lands in Derbyshire; and his
descendants, the Eyres, still bear a leg and a thigh in armor, for their
crest. It is too pretty a story to lose, but if the account of these knight-
makings be correct, some doubt must be attached to that of the
devices, if, as some assert, armorial bearings were not used until
many years subsequent to the battle of Hastings. The stories are, no
doubt, substantially true. William, like James III. of Scotland, was
addicted to knighting and ennobling any individuals who rendered
him the peculiar pleasures he most coveted. Pitscottie asserts that
the latter king conferred his favors on masons and fiddlers; and we
are told that he not only made a knight of Cochrane, a mason, but
also raised him to the dignity of Earl of Mar. Cochrane, however, was
an architect, but he would have been none the worse had he been a
mason—at least, had he been a man and mason of such quality as
Hugh Millar and Allan Cuningham.
Although it has been often repeated that there were no knights, in
the proper sense of that word, before the period of William the
Conqueror, this must be accepted with such amount of exception as
to be almost equivalent to a denial of the assertion. There were
knights before the Conquest, but the systems differed. Thus we
know from Collier’s Ecclesiastical History that Athelstan was
knighted by Alfred; and this is said to have been the first instance of
the performance of the ceremony that can be discovered. Here
again, however, a question arises. Collier has William of Malmesbury
for his authority. The words of this old author are: “Athelstane’s